


Daddy's Gone (Smokin' Rock Now)

by hharrytomlinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A bit of pinning, Anal Sex, Birthday, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Christmas, Condoms, Dildos, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Harry, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Harry is a Tomlinson, Jay Tomlinson's Wedding, LOTS OF DOMESTICNESS, Loss of Virginity, Louis' Birthday, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Power Bottom Louis, Spanking, Top Louis, Vibrators, Weddings, anne cox's wedding, but what else is new, harry loves babies, im done tagging, jay marries anne actually, louis' 23rd birthday, read notes pls ty, sequel will exist :), strawberry lube, theres too much, too :))
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2848301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hharrytomlinson/pseuds/hharrytomlinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis opens the door carelessly, and welcomes who Harry recognizes as Liam in.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“I, um,” Liam clears his throat, avoiding eye contact with Louis, “your mums are looking for you. All of you, I think.”</i></p><p>  <i>“Thank you, Liam,” Louis pats him on the back, and Niall and Zayn seem almost surprised at his courtesy, until, “but next time, I’d rather you fuck off.”</i><br/> </p><p>Or Harry's mum gets married to Jay Tomlinson, mother of five and two new borns, and Harry's soul may or may not be glowing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy's Gone (Smokin' Rock Now)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Title from What Would You Do by Bastille which helped me write this somehow (reALLY GOOD SONG DO YOURSELF A FAVOUR AND LISTEN THE FUCK OUT OF IT OKAY?). I thought it was kind of funny, 'cause like, there's no husbands in the fic, but I guess maybe it wasn't. I'm a fucking loser. (Also, there's a smoking scene, get it?)  
> 2\. I don't condone the reading of 50 Shades of Gray.  
> 3\. There will be a sequel, hopefully up by the New Year (but I can be a piece of shit at times, so we'll see).  
> 4\. I don't actually like M&M's. I am deathly allergic (just kidding, I get a stomach ache and minor migraines).  
> 5\. I got the ages of Louis' siblings (possibly) fucked and I really don't fucking care. (I do, actually, I'm so sorry).  
> 6\. I used the word terribly far too many times and I am not sorry nor British.  
> 7\. I don't own One Direction, or any of the characters written that're based on real people. Anne and Jay are not actually getting married (unfortunately not) and I don't condone... step-cest? I don't really care to be honest as long as you're giving consent and of the legal age do as you bloody PLEASE!  
> 8\. Ben Winston is really hot and that's all you need to know. :)  
> 9\. [my tumblr](hharrytomlinson.tumblr.com)
> 
> ***UPDATE: As of right now I'm really unsure about a sequel, sorry!! If you have any ideas for one to help me get in the right frame of mind you can message me on tumblr. X***

**Five Days Until The Wedding**

Harry’s juggling Ernest and Doris in his arms when Phoebe tugs at the hem of his shirt and he’s turning around to find where she is, vision filled with babies that smell new and fresh. It’s natural, with them only being a month old each, and is certain the scent won’t last forever, but can’t imagine a time when his house didn’t smell like breast milk.

Phoebe’s impatient and has tugged on Harry’s shirt countless of times by the time he gets around to setting the twins down in their high chairs.

“Harry!” Exasperatedly, Phoebe sets herself down on the chair beside Ernest and sets her elbows on the table, small fingers cupping her chin and the bottoms of her cheeks where they melt into her jawline, rosy red from the cold in the air.

“Yes, Phoebe?” Harry likes – _loves_ children and smiles at Phoebe’s frustration, who only rolls her eyes in further annoyance.

“Daisy wants to play with you,” Phoebe smiles with more gum than teeth from having lost baby teeth that aren’t prepared to grow in yet, “but she says _I_ have to ask you since I’m an inch taller.”

Harry’s not sure if it’s possible to make sense of Daisy’s logic, but begrudgingly agrees to go upstairs, calling out to his mum that he can’t feed Ernest and Doris and has more important priorities to attend, dramatically groaning behind Phoebe whilst she drags him up the steps. In all honestly, he doesn’t quite mind playing with the twins – prefers that over them hating their new older brother.

When he gets to Daisy and Phoebe’s room, there’s boxes lining the walls, unpacked toys and essentials waiting to be put away. Harry and Gemma have been moved in since last week, but Johanna took longer to pack, having four girls and all. But that doesn’t include the recent set of twins, Doris and Ernest, who’d been brought into the world through a sperm donor, Anne’s egg and Jay’s womb. With Anne practically living with the Tomlinson’s, they’d taken care of the baby together in a much smaller house that Harry’s only been to a couple times. He’s seventeen, anyway, and can spend the night alone in a home all to himself without throwing a party.

Gemma, on the other hand, is barely around much, stuck at Uni or at her boyfriend’s most of the time, so it’s rightfully so that she’s meant to share a room with Félicité, Jay’s daughter. Lottie gets her own and so does Harry – on the terms that Louis, Jay’s oldest, has a bed in there when he comes home from Uni as well to visit. The house is big enough for Ernest and Doris to each have a crib of their own and Jay and Anne to get the master bedroom without any problems, and it’d be great, if there were room for a cat, Harry thinks, but two new born babies are enough work as is.

“Here!” Daisy exclaims when Harry sits on the edge of her bed. She kneels beside him to reach his head, where a crown is placed, and pouts when he gets up to open one of the boxes.

“C’mon,” Harry encourages, “you both need to help unpack. It was supposed to be done yesterday.” Which is a bit of a fib, for it’s supposed to be done by the time Louis comes home, someone Harry still hasn’t met, but a little push of encouragement would help. Louis’ supposed to be coming in a few hours, anyway, and if Harry’s learned anything from unpacking his room, it’s that it’s long, tedious work.

“But I want to play!” Daisy kicks her foot against the bed, legs barely swinging over the edge, whilst attempting to give Harry her best puppy dog eyes. “No one ever plays with me.”

“Hey!” Phoebe frowns from where she’s reading an upside down book on her bed, from the other side of the room.

“Christmas is in _five_ days.” Harry adds more emphasis than necessary. “Santa’s not going to give you anything unless you’ve put away what you already have.” It’s logical enough to have Phoebe setting her book down and straining to lift a box off of another. Harry has to help her set the box down onto the ground, before peeling off the duct tape keeping it closed and finding dolls inside. Judging by the marker on the side of the box, they’re all Daisy’s, which encourages her to come over and retrieve them.

Christmas is in five days, much like Jay and Anne’s wedding. It’s hectic to think about, what with just having the babies and all, but they found it more chronologically logical to have the babies first, so that they could celebrate the special day with them as well. After five years of being together, the order in which they planned to do things was picked down to a tee.

Harry ends up setting all of the boxes on the floor and opening them up to allow Phoebe and Daisy to pick what’s theirs from it and place it where they want. The furniture and beds are already set up and it’s only their clothes and toys that need putting away, so Harry helps hang their shirts and pants in each of their closets, while the girls set their dolls up just how they like against their pillow and work on figuring out whose toy is whose.

It seems to be working out well until Daisy complains that Phoebe’s doll is hers and Harry ends up getting to the bottom of things by judging which box it came from.

“That one.” Phoebe points, confused as ever, for she’s certain it’s hers.

Harry can see the name _Phoebe_ printed on the side of the box and sighs, leaning against the wall. It’s eleven in the morning and far too early for this.

“Then it’s yours, Phoebe. Daisy, don’t you think maybe you just have a doll similar to hers?” Harry doesn’t get why they both need so many, or why they can’t just share, but figures it’s something he’s not going to understand, ever, regardless of how hard she tries to.

Daisy shrugs and goes into a box that’s marked with her name, fishing through it until she finds an identical doll.

Phoebe and Daisy are complaining they’re hungry by the time they’re done, and Harry goes downstairs to change a diaper that he really doesn’t want to change. But Anne has wedding plans to sort and Jay has honeymoon plans to make final fixes to. Ernest doesn’t smell, so he goes to Doris, who’s a lot quieter and is contentedly sucking on her thumb until she’s lifted out of her seat, wreaking of something Harry doesn’t want to describe.

Doris cries all the way upstairs and Phoebe pokes her head out of her doorway as she watches her baby sister being carried down the hall into the nursery.

By the time Harry gets Doris to agreeably calm down and changes her diaper, she’s back to sucking her thumb, and he’s heading back downstairs to fit her into her blue playpen (something about not assigning gendered colors to babies, Anne’s attempt at raising her children right, even though Harry turned out _absolutely perfect_ in Jay’s opinion). Nevertheless, Ernest’s is a pinkish purple color and Harry barely catches a glimpse of it before the doorbell is ringing and he’s backtracking to answer it with a happy Doris in his arms, who smells like baby wipes and breast milk.

That is, until Fizzy skids by him, turning the knob before Harry has the chance to, and she’s flying into the arms of who Harry knows has to be Louis.

Daisy and Phoebe come rushing down the stairs, followed by Lottie who’s much more calm with her approach, although it’s clear that she’s rushing to get to Louis just as much as her sisters. Harry’s had to hear about the adoration everyone in the Tomlinson family shares for Louis more than anyone, and the obvious love he shares for his sister is made by the lengthy hugs and cheeky greetings he gives all of them, before finding the only people left in the hall who he hasn’t hugged to be Harry and Doris.

“And you’re Harry, yeah?” Louis asks, smiling as much as one could be.

Harry tries to keep the gaping at Louis down to a minimum, mostly because they’re soon-to-be step brothers, and also because first impressions are everything. Well, most things.

“I could pretend to not know your name, but it’s all I hear about, really,” Harry smiles, trying to be polite and friendly, until he holds out his hand hurriedly, shifting Doris from one arm to the other.

Doris ends up being caught up in a minimally tight but not quite as hesitant as expected hug when Louis ignores Harry’s hand and pulls him forward.

“Nice to meet you.” Louis smiles into Harry’s ear, before pulling away and kissing the top of Doris’ head, who’s clueless as to what’s going on.

Instead of kissing Harry, as Louis’ done to all of the girls, he delivers his bum a smack on the way past him, calling into the hall on his exploration into the family room, “Now where’s my other twin? I’ve heard Ernest makes the cutest noise when you squeeze his tummy!”

Louis’ sisters giggle after him, following him into the family room, whilst Harry’s a bit frozen in shock. He hands Doris to Lottie, who takes her gladly, and hurries upstairs to change, for he knows he’s still in sweats and has to smell like two babies who’ve sort of become a part of his responsibility.

In the shower, there are a few things Harry can’t help but think about – like how Louis looks a lot cuter and older than any photo he’s seen lying around, and how he smacked his _bum_. It could be something he does to everything, naturally, but Harry really doubts it and shivers at the thought in excitement for no reason at all. He’s his step brother, anyway.

There’s another thing that has Harry smiling, thoughts like his family’s finally complete. Louis knew which baby was Doris without being told, something Harry still doesn’t have completely down unless he’s changing them, where there’s an obvious placement of parts that vary in Doris and Earnest. Excited for the idea of the big family that Harry’s always dreamed of since birth, he turns off the water and heads out with a towel wrapped around his waist and a shake of the water out of his hair.

By the time Harry’s downstairs and dressed in jeans that cling to his thighs and a t-shirt white enough to be see through, lunch is nearly ready and he’s down in time to set the table before the salad’s being placed in the center, followed by a chicken that has Daisy scrunching her nose and Phoebe declaring her love of the meat. Daisy also declares that salad’s gross, so Harry offers to make her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, to which she surprisingly agrees.

Harry’s closing the lids of the jelly and peanut butter when Louis, Lottie, and Fizzy come in with the younger set of twins. He watches from the corner of his eye as Louis sets Ernest into her high chair and Lottie does the same for Doris, Harry getting distracted enough for it to take him longer than it should to place the covers of the peanut butter and jelly back on properly.

“Not eating, Daisy?” Louis frowns when he takes the seat next to Daisy and notices no plate in front of her.

“Harry’s making me a sandwich.” Daisy points to where Harry’s cutting off the crust of her sandwich, before cutting it into fourths the way he’s learned she likes. Phoebe’s the opposite, eating the sandwich whole with nothing cut or sliced in a declaration that just because she looks like Daisy, doesn’t mean they’re the same at all.

Once Harry has Daisy’s sandwich set down in front of her, he finds himself a seat in front of Louis from the other end of the table, waiting for the rest of the meal to arrive on the table.

“Aren’t you going to thank Harry?” Louis raises an eyebrow, pulling the plate away from Daisy before she can get to it.

Glaring at Louis, Daisy looks up to Harry with a sudden smile and thanks him, before she can get her meal back. Naturally, she doesn’t wait for everyone to be seated before she begins to eat.

Harry, on the other hand, watches Louis lean across the table to grab Lottie’s phone, who’s sitting beside him. There’s teasing of who Kristen is and Louis aims the phone at Harry from across him, giving him a cheeky smile, before intently staring at the screen and typing something in.

When Lottie’s phone is returned, she checks to see what Louis’ done, but Harry can’t see the screen without appearing nosey. There’s a look delivered to Louis, one Harry doesn’t understand in the slightest, before they’re both glancing at Harry, who feels like a black sheep in the room all of the sudden.

Before anything can elaborate, there’s mashed potatoes and yams and stuffing in the middle of the table and Jay’s making Phoebe a plate, followed by Fizzy. Harry’s one of the last people to start adding food to his plate and accidently brushes hands with Louis, who pushes Harry’s out of the way to get the section of the chicken Harry was so obviously going for. Instead of being angry, Harry blushes and takes it as a symbol of endearment by the way Louis’ smiling at him afterwards.

Most of the conversation is geared toward Louis and how University is going, along with mentions of the wedding and things that still need to be done.

After Lottie is scolded for using her phone at the table and then once again for calling Louis a twat when he defends her in mockery, saying that she’s talking to Kristen, so it much be important, he asks, “So where am I sleeping?” followed by a shove of chicken into his mouth.

“You get to share with Harry.” Jay smiles and wipes the drool that’s fallen out of Ernest’s mouth with his bib, tickling under his chin, to which she gets a squeak of a giggle in response.

“Are there two beds up there?” Louis watches Jay help Ernest with his bottle while waiting for an answer, attentive while Harry watches him watch Jay watch Ernest.

“’Course,” Jay insists, “it’s your room too, will barely be in use when Harry goes off to Uni next fall.”

“How old are you, Harry?” Harry’s thankful Louis doesn’t speak of him in third person when he asks this, feeling included in the conversation.

“Seventeen.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, “look a bit older than that, love.” he notes, meaning nothing by it, or at least Harry doesn’t think so, before continuing his meal.

Harry offers to help clean up, but is told to show Louis around upstairs instead. Lottie takes the twins upstairs for a nap with the help of Fizzy, and the other twins go to their room to play again.

“So, um,” Harry clears his throat and glances at Louis once they’re at the top of the steps and walking down the hall. Louis’ bag is just one suitcase, meant to last until New Years. “Mum and Jay’s room is right there,” Harry points to the closest room, “the nursery is right across. The twins are next door, with Fizzy across, also next to Lottie. And then, um, we’re at the end of the hall.”

Harry continues walking to his room, finding that it’s harder to be in front of Louis when he knows there’s a possibility he’s being observed and stared at. It’s not a very comforting thought, even though it kind of is.

The room Harry’s meant to share with Louis has two beds, diagonal from each other on the far ends of the room. Where Louis’ is right by the door, Harry’s is closest to the large window, the room being chosen for that exact reasoning. It looks out to the woods surrounding the home in the backyard and reminds Harry of Cheshire, where he used to live when he was younger, before his mum was moved to Doncaster for work.

Louis drops his bag carelessly in the middle of the floor and seats himself on the edge of his bed, whilst Harry fumbles around with the pillows on his, fixing them so that his bed looks neater. He’d forgotten to make his bed this morning, of all mornings, after being woken up by a hyperactive Phoebe.

“So, Harry,” Louis kindly smiles, “how’re you liking the girls?”

Harry’s unsure if this is a test of whether or not he’ll make a fit step brother, but answers truthfully regardless. “They’re cool. Really welcoming.” He knows he’s the odd one out, for Louis has four sisters, and the only people connecting them by blood are Ernest and Doris. Their mothers’ soon-to-be consummated marriage will have them as legal siblings, and from the amount Harry welcomes family – _dreams_ of ten children and a husband who comes from a big family – he’s glad with how things are going, really.

“That’s good. Hope they aren’t causing you too much trouble?”

“Phoebe has me up at seven every morning and Daisy likes to put tiaras on my head, and Lottie’s never going to follow me back on Twitter, even though she claims she’ll get around to it, but other than that things are good.”

“You know what,” Louis gasps exaggeratedly and takes out his phone, “I don’t think she’s followed me back either.”

And if Harry giggles into a pillow while Louis’ checking his phone with a frown, Louis doesn’t have to know.

Harry thinks he’ll be fine with a fit older step-brother, and that nothing has to be made out of it, until he’s searching their shared room for 50-Fucking-Shades of Grey, where he knows he’s left it about somewhere, and accidently stumbles into where Louis has carelessly left his suitcase.

He’s a bit of a house-boy in the way that when he catches the small pocket unzipped, he lifts the suitcase to zip it with intentions of being helpful. The suitcase, flipped upside down, isn’t of the better variety, the pocket too loose, and then there’s something falling out of it from where Harry’s crouched over.

It lands on his foot.

There are things Harry wishes he could take back in life, like that one time when he was five and squeezed his pet hamster, Hamster, a bit too hard and learned what happened when he did so the hard way. There’s the time in third grade when he caught the art teacher snogging his maths teacher after running upstairs early from recess. He’s certain finding a pastel pink dildo in Louis’ suitcase is the absolute worst.

There are intentions of putting it away, immediately, until it’s in Harry’s hand and he frowns at how heavy it feels. His hands appear to almost dwarf it, no matter the size, and he can feel a button at the end. About to see what it does when pressed, Harry makes a move to do so until:

“I certainly didn’t catch you for a snooper, love.”

Harry wishes he hadn’t bothered to find the god damn book to begin with, wants to erase what’s happening when he turns around to find Louis leaning against the doorway, arms across his chest with a smirk gracing his lips. Harry’s heart is near pounding out of his chest, restricting him from the capability of dropping the dildo to the ground. And for the love of god, does he want to.

“I, I didn’t—I,” Harry stutters, but can’t seem to form the right sentences, grateful that Louis’ giving him time to explain himself and remaining silent, “it-it fell out.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “Of your bag. Was open. Your bag was open and I wanted to zip it.”

“Well that took a while,” Louis rolls his eye in a gentle form of mockery that Harry’s doesn’t seem to take offence to, “now give me that, kid, don’t you know about HIV and stuff? It’s not exactly sanitary.”

“Oh, um,” Harry hands Louis the, the _dildo, vibrator, **whatever**_ when he’s within reach, “I don’t have any open wounds though.”

“And I don’t have aids, but,” Louis grins, “who knows.”

There are things Harry wishes he could take back and this conversation definitely is it.

“So, um,” Harry takes a step back to lean against his bureau and watch Louis lift his bag onto his bed, where he opens it to begin to unpack, “does that mean you’re like, gay?”

“Yes,” Louis grabs a mess of shirts, that causes Harry to cringe from their lack of being folded and wrinkles, and walks them over to the shelves in the bureau appointed as his, “and I’m assuming you don’t have a problem with that. In case you haven’t realized, so is your mum.”

“I, I don’t,” Harry’s quick to blurt out in defense, “I’m, um, too.” He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so nervous or why the back of his neck feels sweaty even though it’s always so damn cold, but blames it on Louis.

“Interesting,” Louis hums, “what a nice pattern we’ve going here.”

“I can fold those for you,” Harry offers, “and iron them. I don’t mind.” Clearing his throat for what feels like the thousandth time, Harry holds his hand out to take Louis’ clothes in offering.

“Um,” Louis frowns in confusion, “okay, if you want, I guess. Just don’t go sniffing through my boxers.”

Harry’s silent for a moment, and it takes Louis to nudge him with a gentle, “I’m just kidding, Harry, calm down, we’re bros and all that, yeah?” for him to give a stiff smile and set the clothes down on the top of the bureau, deciding to iron them when he does his clothes later.

Harry watches Louis move the dildo from his suitcase and into his sock drawer with curiosity.

“Louis?” He questions softly. “Why do you have that?”

Louis laughs and turns to look at Harry, resting a hand on Harry’s cheek where it feels to be burning a hole. “We can’t all be pretty like you, love. I bet you get all the guys, hm?” And Louis has to be just flattering him, because Harry’s never had a boyfriend before, let alone several. “If you’ve a boyfriend, I suppose you don’t really need to bring a dildo to your mum’s, now do you?”

“Are you going to use it?” Harry nearly croaks. Louis’ hand is warm but a good kind and his face is so, _so_ close it hurts.

“Hmm,” Louis hums thoughtfully, “we’ll see. I’m sure this is a conversation a bit past sibling boundaries. Wouldn’t discuss this with Gemma, now would you?”

“Gemma doesn’t have—“

“And you know that, how?” Louis quirks. “Quite the snooper you are.” He teases, before finding his way toward the doorway, hand gone from Harry’s skin.

“Oh,” Louis adds, turning around right when Harry thinks their conversation is over, “and don’t be afraid to try it for yourself, yeah? Like older brothers who share porn and whatnot, ‘cept you’re a bit too old for me to tell you what an erection is and we’re bound to have different tastes.”

By the end of the night, Harry decides to retire early after ironing all of the clothes Louis’ packed and putting them away for him, including his boxers which are frighteningly wrinkled in ways Harry didn’t realize were possible. For some reason, Louis goes to bed shortly after Harry, even though it’s far from midnight and just after the twins have been put to bed.

“Night, Harry.” Louis murmurs, obviously unsure of whether or not Harry’s actually awake.

Harry rolls over onto his side, facing Louis’ bed in the dark, and asks hesitantly, “Louis?”

There’s a pause, before, “Yeah, love?”

“What _is_ your taste?” More silence and Harry grows nervous, quickly adding on, “From what you said earlier. That ours are bound to be different, you know?”

Louis shuffles in his bed, the mattress creaking, before: “I like cute little twinks, sort of like you. And I’m assuming you watch the stuff with the proper big beefy guys blowing another big beefy guy. You seem like the type, anyway.” He yawns.

“Oh.” Harry murmurs, pressing his cheek against his pillow. “Okay, g’night.” It’s an abrupt way to end the night, and conversation, but there’s no real way to ask what Harry’s been curious about, and how Louis so easily talked about his sexuality and didn’t flare up once with a blush at the mention of how he got off. He’d only barely restricted himself from peaking into Louis’ sock drawer to catch another glimpse of his dildo, and with promises of more questions to come tomorrow, Harry falls asleep to the soft breathing of Louis and footsteps padding down the hall.

**Four Days Until The Wedding**

“Harry,” there’s a soft coo in Harry’s ear and he groans, rolling over onto his side and lifting the duvet over his face, “darling, breakfast is ready.”

The problem is, it doesn’t sound like Fizzy or Phoebe or Daisy, and it’s definitely not Lottie. His mum hasn’t bothered to wake him for breakfast since forever, so when Harry lifts the duvet away from his head and squints his eyes open with much hesitance, he’s not very surprised to find Louis leaning over him, hand on his shoulder, and another beside him, palm dug into the mattress.

“We’re having bacon and eggs, in case you were wondering. Possibly toast, but Daisy might’ve eaten it all in her quest to avoid all meat.”

“Okay,” Harry manages to croak out before Louis’ giving him his space to wake up and he’s yawning into the sleeve of the jumper he slept in.

Breakfast goes well if a crying baby and Phoebe’s refusal to eat her eggs is judging by anything. Harry can’t recall the last time they had such an organized, family breakfast before, mostly because he’s just recently adapted to living with a family that wasn’t his own ‘til now.

“So, Harry,” Jay smiles and balances Ernest over her shoulder, rubbing his back to stop another outcry of hunger, “I read in the paper that they’re playing Titanic in 3D. Why don’t you and Louis go?”

Harry knows it’s an attempt at some type of bonding that’s just going to go away once Louis goes back to Uni, but before he can answer, Louis’ cutting in. “Can’t mum, gonna visit Niall and Zayn in all their glory at the shop.”

“Take Harry with you, then. I’m sure your friends would love to meet him.”

Louis shrugs, murmurs a _sure_ and Harry’s not certain if he’s welcome, but knows that if they want to please their parents they’ll hang out together. It’s not like he has anything else to do today, anyway.

By noon, Harry finds himself in the passenger seat of Louis’ car. It’s an older model that creaks when the doors open and close and takes a few minutes to start up. Louis murmurs about how crappy it is and jokes how he’d rather a minivan than this, but they’re on the road in no time, Louis turning the radio up with Harry lightly humming along under his breath.

The shop they’re going to turns out to be a small book store at the end of a row of houses, an old open sign hanging through the door. Louis leads the way, locking his car with a key instead of a remote and briefly looking both ways before crossing the street from where he’s parked. Harry watches closely at how Louis takes big strides despite his legs not being as long as his, and how confident he is with these strides. He doesn’t nearly bump into the telephone pole like Harry, and opens the heavy glass door without a second thought.

Harry watches as Louis grabs the nearest book in sight and brings it up to the cash register in the middle of the store. With a grin, he solemnly says, “Hi, yes, I’d like to buy this here book.”

There’s a louder greeting than Harry finds necessary, a big hug that Louis seems to give everyone, before a dark haired male is coming out of the back room to welcome Louis with wide, open arms. Harry’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he watches the man grab Louis’ bum like he owns it and gives it a squeeze that only shows how flexible Louis’ jeggings are and how perky his bum is. Admittedly, it’s a nice one.

Instead of any comments being made on Louis’ bum, there’s a question from the blonde behind the register, a, “And who’s this piece of ass you’ve brought with ‘ya?” and a slight gaping from Harry. The man has an Irish accent in place of a British and can’t be any older than Louis.

“Got yourself a boyfriend, mate?” The olive skinned man who’s got an arm around Louis quirks, “Sorry ‘bout the arse grab, then, he’s all yours. Louis just likes it a bit too much when we give attention to his bum. Thinks he prefers that over himself, to be honest.”

“Hey!” Louis hits him in the chest with strong disagreement, “First, you love my arse, Zayn, don’t you dare pretend otherwise, and second, this is Harry, mummy Anne’s son.”

“Well that’s a relief,” the man beside Louis, Zayn, sighs, “no offence, man, but you can’t be any older than sixteen. Can’t have my pal Louis getting thrown in jail, y’know? Then who’s gonna eat him out when he gets lonely?”

“Um, excuse me.” The blonde by the cash register cuts in. “Zayn, relationship, have you forgotten?”

“Right, sorry.” Zayn grins. “Can’t forget you, Niall. You’re much better, anyway. Louis talks too much.”

“Harry’s seventeen,” Louis adds in before it’s too late and irrelevant to the conversation, “and I actually think he looks a bit old for his age, thank you.”

All the while, Harry remains silent and stands by the front entrance, but not so that he’s in the way of anyone who decides to come into the store. The shop seems pretty bare, anyway, and judging by the sign, it’s just opened for the day. It’s small and doesn’t appear to get a lot of business to begin with, but there’s only two workers as it seems.

“Enough of that,” Niall at the cash register cuts in to end the bickering, “you’re gonna have to tell me what you want for your birthday, mate. You always make a fuss if we try to give you one gift for your birthday and Christmas, but never tell us what you want to begin with. It’s hard to bullshit two gifts so close together.”

“You can pay my rent,” Louis offers, “oh, oh, I know! My water bills been pretty high lately, what about—“

“No thanks, man, Zaynie here already has me paying his.” Niall leans against the wall parallel to the cash register and Harry stays silent, glancing around at the various posters on the wall that seem to fit into some sort of an indie vibe they have going on.

“I told you I’m going to pay you back,” Zayn rolls his eyes and steps away from Louis to go behind the register and gather an armful of books, before heading past Harry to return them where they belong on the shelves in the quaint bookstore, “as soon as the international check comes in from my last gallery. Takes a bit when the buyers are from the States.”

Harry watches Louis and his friends ramble on mindlessly until they declare themselves as terrible hosts, asking Harry if he wants to sit down at a nearby table and chair set. Louis follows while Zayn and Niall get back to work, Louis grabbing a nearby book to read whilst he makes comments on Niall’s working ethics, like how he should wear a suit and tie and feels like a neglected customer.

It’s when Louis’ foot accidently bumps Harry’s under the table that Harry finally feels fully awake after hours of feeling like a walking zombie. He moves his foot away, closer to his chair, even though his legs are so long and the table is only so big, but Louis’ foot seems to find his anyway and the placement of his vans over his boots feels warm, even though it probably shouldn’t.

Louis moves his foot away eventually, and Harry’s convinced it was done just to make him uncomfortable, especially judging by the smirk Louis got upon noticing Harry’s blush crawling up his cheeks, sprinkled on his neck faintly.

“Nialler!” Louis calls while Niall marks books with price tags, sticking them on with his tongue poked out of his mouth. A few customers have come into the shop since Louis and Harry’s arrival, most of them leaving with a few books in hand, and several of them appearing to know Niall and be regulars.

“Louis,” Niall gives an exasperated sigh, “’m workin’ mate. Weren’t you the one t’ tell me t’ get a proper job?”

“Yes, but,” Louis itches his head absentmindedly, hair falling from where the front was faintly quiffed. “I need the scoop, man. Manchester University is only _so_ interesting. There’s like, two hot guys, if that.”

“Fine,” Niall presses his palms loudly to the countertop of the cash register and Harry peaks up from the poetry book he has between his fingers.

Something about red roses and blue violets and the existential crisis of a twenty-nine year old man. He’s not sure.

“If you must know,” Niall clears his throat, almost seeming to mock Louis, and Harry’s quickly realizing that this is how their friendship works, “Liam is dating Sophia Smith.”

“Weird name for a boy.” Louis murmurs under his breath, but Niall catches it regardless, even through the faint music of _The Strokes_ playing through the speakers coming from the ceiling.

“Sophia is a girl. Liam’s bi now, I guess. Realized he only _sort of_ likes guys.”

“What a twat, always has been stand-offish about his sexuality.” Louis shakes his head, his hair falling out of place again, although it always seems to return to where it was before afterwards. He seems to know more about the topic than he lets on. Harry’s puzzled.

“I guess he forgot he dated you for two years. Must’ve not liked your arse too much.” Niall snickers at the last part, and Harry easily makes sense of things and (sort of) what they’re talking about. He gets as much as is presented to him.

“Shut up.” Louis grumbles. “I don’t need I-Can’t-Get-It-Up-God-Is-Watching Payne to tell me if my rear is likeable.”

At that, Harry has to snicker with Niall, who instantly decides upon his liking toward Harry.

At three, Zayn and Niall close the shop for an hour for a late lunch, and Harry comes along with, finding himself getting along just fine with Louis’ friends. They decide to go to McDonalds to eat after Niall states himself as poor due to paying two rents this month, and while Zayn and Niall order, Louis guides Harry to a table, where he tells him to stay while he helps Zayn and Niall carry back the food.

And Harry listens, too, replays the way Louis told him to stay where he is with a hand on his shoulder. He finds himself increasingly obedient and checks the time on his phone while he waits for Louis, Zayn, and Niall to come back with the food, scooting further into the booth and closer to the window when they return with three bags and a drink tray.

They dump everything out on the table with little care, sanitation appearing to not be their main goal, and Harry watches as they divide the food into fourths. Louis stacks two burgers in front of Harry along with a large fry and a soda, never having asked him what he wanted and assuming, before seating himself beside the seventeen year old and digging in.

There are things Harry wishes he didn’t have to witness, and one of which is Niall devouring three burgers under two minutes. It’s frightening and interesting all the same, and Zayn laughs every time he glances over at Niall, who’s not paying attention to anything else but his food.

When Niall’s done, he slouches against the booth with a burp that has Harry pausing around the fry in his mouth, and Louis’ hand resting on his thigh. Harry momentarily freezes further, although his tense state doesn’t seem to go noticed by anyone but himself. If Louis realizes the strict tension in Harry’s joints, he doesn’t say anything.

Harry’s phone starts to ring halfway through his second burger, and he manages to get it out of his pocket only to realize it’s his mum. Simultaneously, Louis’ rings and Harry assumes it’s Jay before picking up his own.

“Hello?” Harry doesn’t know what she’s calling for and feels Louis’ hand leaving his thigh before it does.

“Harry, darling, when are you coming home?”

Harry shrugs as he replies, “I’m not sure, mum.” whilst kicking the floor tiles beneath his feet.

“Well are you going to miss dinner?”

“We’re eating right now, so we probably won’t be hungry.” Beside him, Harry can hear Louis answering the same questions.

Once Harry and Louis are both off the phone, there’s snickering from Niall and Zayn.

“You both are great.” Niall laughs.

“The cutest mummy’s boys, I’ll tell yeah.” Zayn agrees, and Louis laughs along with them but doesn’t argue. He must know it’s true.

Louis and Harry arrive home at seven, with their hands in their pockets from the cold and Louis fumbling to get his key in the door. Harry stands nearby and can smell the cologne and McDonalds off him, an intoxicating smell that has him almost leaning in before he realizes what he’s doing, passing it off as an attempt to stay warm, even though Louis doesn’t seem notice.

Inside it’s warm and Phoebe buries her head into Harry’s stomach, going on about how much she missed him and how the babies wouldn’t stop crying and how Daisy is driving her _nuts_ , absolutely _bonkers!_

“I’m getting a little jealous over here.” Louis kids, removing his jacket to set it on a hook.

Instead of hugging Louis as well, Phoebe murmurs just so that Louis can hear, “Harry’s my new brother, and you’re old and boring.” to which Louis breaths into Harry’s ear, “M’gonna have to punish you if you keep stealing all my sisters.”

Harry goes to bed convinced that his older step-brother may or may not be hitting on him.

**Three Days Until The Wedding**

The problem with Louis is how friendly he is and how he finds it possible to joke with everyone, including Ernest who giggles every time Louis pokes his stomach or slobbers all over his cheek. So friendly, that anything he does can be considered as just that, and Harry’s conscious mind argues that Louis is just trying to make him feel like he fits into the family, meanwhile his subconscious is telling him that Louis is hitting on him in a not so subtle way.

The confirmation of it all is the following afternoon with everyone but Lottie, who’s out with a friend, lounging about the living room and watching a Christmas movie that’s airing on some cheesy family channel. It’s cute, regardless, and there’s two more of the series playing after it, so Harry doesn’t quite mind sitting next to Fizzy, who slouches against his arm halfway through, and having Phoebe on his lap while she has him braid her hair because she hasn’t quite figured it out yet. When he’s done, Phoebe leaves, and Daisy’s supposed to be next, until Louis ends up laying across the big couch, bum perched on Harry’s thigh and back against the arm of the couch, so that he’s facing the opposing end.

Surprisingly, Fizzy doesn’t wake up and Daisy doesn’t pout when Phoebe offers to braid her hair, even though she doesn’t exactly know how.

Louis smiles at Harry sheepishly, an innocent grin that isn’t quite, and is followed by Louis reaching behind Harry’s back against the cushion, to under his bum.

Harry’s breath juts but no one notices with him not speaking and everyone paying attention to the film. Except for Harry who can feel Louis kneading his bum and this isn’t something step-brothers regularly do unless they’re on _Life With Dereck_.

There’s the obvious, so, so blatant point that Louis and Harry aren’t related and it’s not actually incest, if anything were to happen. Except it can’t – absolutely can’t – and Louis shouldn’t be groping his bum like it’s nothing, gaze on the television ever so casually, but he is.

Louis’ fingers eventually go from a desperate groping to a calmed rubbing and Harry says nothing, just lets him do it because he’s not entirely _opposed_ to the idea or situation. Phoebe and Daisy have fallen asleep on the floor by his feet and Fizzy’s still dead into slumber, not even noticing the extra weight of Louis’ knees resting on her lap. Harry feels squashed against the arm of the couch and Fizzy, Louis right on top of him, but he can’t find it within himself to mind.

There is, however, the problem of Harry getting hard, his erection, which he’s desperate to keep down, until Louis ever so slightly rocks his bum down onto his crotch and like the teenage boy he is – he’s hard. Magnificently so, and Louis notices through Harry’s sweatpants, leaning back softly to murmur into his ear.

“Want to take you upstairs.” Louis speaks faintly, so that Harry questions if he said anything after a moment of not responding. Louis’ other hand begins to rub the inside of his thigh, head leaning against the back of the couch and chin slightly perched against Harry’s shoulder, so that he fits in the crook of his neck.

Harry’s terribly turned on from the position alone and nearly jizzes himself when Louis moves his bum so that he has access to Harry’s hard on, grazing him gently.

It’s terrible, really.

“When the film ends,” Louis decides, “we’re going to sneak out of here and past mums’ room to ours.” His breath is soft against Harry’s ear, tickling his skin, and Harry wants more of it. “And I’m gonna blow you,” Louis doesn’t give Harry a chance to object, “’til you come.”

When Harry glances at the clock above the television, he notices that the movie’s set to end in four minutes, and until then Louis decides to rub the very inner portion of his thigh until he’s breathing heavily.

Harry silently follows Louis upstairs after tiptoeing past the sleeping girls. They can hear their mums cooing Ernest and Doris from the crack in their door and manage to slip past without being noticed.

The second the door of Harry and Louis’ room is locked shut, Louis presses on Harry’s chest, forcing his back against the wall, whilst lifting his t-shirt and sliding down his sweatpants, boxers coming with. It’s fast paced and Louis has a hand pressed to Harry’s stomach and another around his cock before either of them can register.

Louis barely needs to suck Harry into his mouth before Harry’s making the smallest whiny noises of need and Louis decides to go slower, as to stretch out the orgasm and make it so Harry won’t come so soon.

“Not allowed,” Louis pulls off of Harry, whose lips part in dismay in response, “not allowed to come until I say, Harry.” And Louis’ serious and Harry’s heavily turned on, hips lifting away from the wall, only for his waist to be pushed back by Louis’ free hand, the one that isn’t fondling Harry’s balls. It’s clear as day that Louis wants to be and is in control, and Harry refuses to be in objection of it.

Harry’s hands stay by his sides whilst biting his lip to stay quiet, knowing his mum is just down the hall, yet Louis seems to be encouraging him to make noise judging by the extra attention delivered to the head of his penis, licks and sucks that have Harry leaning into the wall as to get a grip on something.

Every time Harry’s certain he’s about to come, Louis squeezes his balls and it hurts terribly, but not as much as the thought of disappointing him.

Louis sounds a bit groggy when he continues to pump Harry’s length in both hands and pulls off of him to say, “You can come now.”

And Harry comes on go, cock barely making it into Louis’ mouth before his legs are shaking and his heart’s pounding heavier than before. Louis sucks him off through it, swallowing all of his come, and Harry’s definitely not done this before, but has never been against it, either.

There aren’t very many openly gay guys in his school, let alone the whole of Doncaster. Except for Louis’ friends, he supposes.

Louis fixes Harry back into his boxers for him, gently patting his crotch when he’s done and his sweatpants are back around his waist.

Louis hasn’t come, is the thing, but stands up to kiss Harry on the mouth like he has, even though there’s no noticeably wet spot in his sweats. And Harry’s confused, expects him to expect something in return, but instead leaves the room without another word and a flirtatious smile that has Harry more unsure of himself than before.

Harry goes to bed that night before Louis, after keeping his head down and toward his plate during dinner. Anne and Jay wouldn’t have noticed regardless, too busy discussing wedding plans and desperate to feed the newest set of twins, whilst appeasing the older ones with a promise of ice cream for dessert if they cleaned their plates. And yes, that included the green beans.

The light is out and he’s fast asleep by the time Louis comes in, undressing in the dark and nearly dying from a stubbed toe on the way past his bed.

Harry doesn’t expect to wake up in the dark and doesn’t know what time it is when Louis’ body is laying over his and there’s lips softly against his own. Louis’ forearms rest against the bed by Harry’s head, his waist pressed to Harry’s through the duvet, and Harry moves his head, finding his body trapped.

“Wh-What’re you—“

“Shh,” Louis hushes, trying to get Harry to speak quieter, “you’ll wake someone, babe.”

“What’re you doing?” Harry asks in a volume Louis approves of, and when he moves his head up the slightest centimeter, his nose brushes Louis’.

“Just wanted to feel you, darling, relax.” Louis’ swift in bringing himself under the covers with Harry, realizing that he’s only in his boxers much like himself moments later, which brings a grin Harry notices through the moonlight shining out their window and the creak of light coming from outside their door.

Harry doesn’t know what Louis means by _feel you_ , figures it has to be sex, but a part of him trusts Louis and knows that he wouldn’t do anything outrageous without permission. They’re going to be step-brothers, after all, and Harry could so very easily tell on Louis.

He can’t imagine how that conversation would go.

Nevertheless, Louis slips his hand under Harry’s pillow and feels around for something that Harry doesn’t have the faintest idea of. His mind is too foggy to realize that’s where he keeps his lube, and _how on Earth does Louis know that?_

Louis kisses Harry’s ear, before focusing his attention on tugging the waistband of Harry’s boxers down enough for his cock to be moved out and Louis to have access to it. Harry finds himself unopposed if this leads to him coming again. He’s never done this, or any of this before, and Louis’ fit and nice, is the thing. There’s no valid reasoning behind why he’d choose to do this with _Harry_ , none at all, but Harry doesn’t quite need it.

Not yet, at least.

The cap of the lube snaps open close to Harry’s ear, followed by the placement of it on his chest, where Louis’ silly in trying to make it stand up under the covers. It ends up falling down, anyway, with a laugh from Louis and a whimper from the cold of the lube from Harry, because Louis suddenly has his hands all over Harry’s cock.

“Still not gonna come until I say, yeah?” Louis confirms. “I want you to never come unless I tell you you can. Not while I’m around at least.”

“Why?” Harry frowns and asks, before his eyes are squeezing shut from the way Louis suddenly harshly jerks him. There’s no answer to his question, but that had to be one.

Harry can feel something else against him not very many moments later. Louis shuffles to straddle Harry’s lap, the duvet long gone and off of the pair. When Harry moves his hand to see what’s going on and why he feels like there’s something suddenly so tight around his cock, Louis, through the dark, pushes his hand away.

“Don’t touch, love.” Louis whispers. “Let me do this for you, okay?”

It’s a rhetorical question, much like many of Louis’, because it’s already been decided for him.

It only takes Harry a moment to realize that Louis’ cock is against his, and that’s why the noises being made are louder than before and everything feels tighter and faster.

“Louis,” Harry moans after a moment of silence, “when can I?” Harry comes fast, is the thing. He’s seventeen and hasn’t had sex before, hasn’t had a sex life at _all_.

But Louis isn’t having any of it, and tells Harry to, “Wait, or I’m stopping.”

Harry feels like he’s bothered Louis for a moment, before remembering that he’s the one with a hand and a cock around him and relaxes against his bed, turning his face to look at the closed door that’s bound to be locked now.

“I wanted to ride you,” Louis leans down to whisper to Harry, and Harry can feel their cocks between his stomach and Louis’. “But I figured if the twins heard the creaks of the bed they’d think we were jumping on it, or something, and want to join in.” He laughs, and suddenly Harry realizes what Zayn meant by Harry talking a lot during sex. Except – this isn’t sex.

Harry’s unsure how Louis can be so calm when he’s noticeably so hard and how he can talk about his family when he has a cock pressed against Harry’s, but figures that it’s just a Louis thing. He doesn’t seem very good at shutting up in any situation, anyway.

Louis presses his lips to Harry’s before Harry can utter a response, and Harry moans into his mouth when Louis moves his cock against his.

Harry regrets coming when he does – without Louis’ permission and onto his stomach and Louis’. It gets all over Louis’ cock, and Louis wouldn’t have noticed if Harry’s breath didn’t stop short when he did and the friction between both of their cocks was a lot less and a lot more lubricated.

Louis stops everything he’s doing to pull back and look at Harry, and quickly finishes himself off against the boy, fast moving hands and all.

“I told you not to come,” Louis whispers, “didn’t I?”

Harry nods his head through the dark, and even though Louis can’t necessarily see him, he seems to get the message.

“I’m too tired to punish you right now.” Louis decides, and it reminds Harry of Louis’ declaration of a punishment if he kept jokingly stealing all of his sisters. Except this time, Louis sounds serious and without any hesitation at all. “Tomorrow, you’re not going to be able to walk right, darling.”

Louis gets off of Harry and leaves him messy with come and lube after wiping it all off on him, his chest, and whatever was left on his hand onto Harry’s lips. It’s careless, before Louis’ getting into his own bed and Harry finds himself too frigid to wash everything off in the bathroom.

**Two Days Until The Wedding**

Harry wakes up feeling gross and sticky and showers as soon as he realizes this, forgetting his clothes along the way, so that he ends up having to walk back to his room in only a towel. Louis’ sitting on his bed when he returns, flipping through Harry’s copy of Fifty Shades of Grey, much to his confusion.

“You know,” Louis clears his throat whilst Harry closes the door with intentions on getting dressed, “you really shouldn’t be reading garbage like this.”

“I like it.” Harry frowns, and shuffles through his drawers of the bureau to find a clean pair of boxers.

“Aw, babe,” Louis coos in mockery, “you want me to tie you up and whip you then? Followed by, what? Me being an abusive boyfriend and taking over your life?”

“Not you.” Harry murmurs, but Louis hears perfectly well, and the bureau is close enough to Harry’s bed for him to grab Harry waist and pull him closer, so that he’s standing in between Louis’ legs and Louis is squeezing his naked waist.

“You’ve got beautiful love handles.” Louis notes. “And if not me, then who?”

Harry shrugs his shoulders and doesn’t realize right away when Louis tugs at his towel, forcing it to the ground. He’s too focused on standing in between Louis’ knees and how soft his hair looks from having showered not too long ago.

“I want to spank you.” Louis decides. There’s slim room for Harry to say no, and he could if he really wanted to, but knows regardless that this is what Louis had meant the night before by a punishment.

Except, there’s suddenly a knock on the door and a squeal from Phoebe, exclaiming for Harry to open up before Daisy catches her. There’s no time for a punishment, so Louis kisses the middle of Harry’s torso and gives his bum a smack, before demanding him to get dressed teasingly.

By the time Louis opens the door, Harry’s wearing jeans and yanking a shirt over his head and Daisy has already caught Phoebe, granting her the title of being it in their game of tag. If Louis’ half hard, only Harry appears to notice.

“Where’s Harry?” Phoebe frowns, before pushing past Louis to find Harry sitting on his bed, 50 Shades of Grey stuffed under his pillow. “Harry, mummy Anne says you have to help Daisy and I get ready for the wedding rehearsal.”

“What about me?” Louis lifts Phoebe up sideways, her body eventually up right against his side. “What am _I_ supposed to do if I’m not assisting you?”

“Mummy Anne says you have to drive us there.” Daisy cuts in and attempts to sit beside Harry on his bed, but isn’t quite tall enough yet to get up there, so Harry results in lifting her up to sit beside him, well aware that Phoebe gets the most attention out of the two.

Louis hums, smiles at Daisy, and carries Phoebe out of the room whilst she giggles into his neck. Daisy asks to be picked up as well, and the pair follow behind Louis, who leads the way downstairs and into the kitchen, where breakfast is being prepared.

“Ah, Harry! You’re up.”

“’V been up, mum.” Harry sets Daisy beside Phoebe and sits where he had across from Louis the first night of Louis’ arrival.

Even then, he wasn’t as confused about Louis as he is now.

“I’m going to need you to help the girls get ready, and Louis will drive you and the twins over to the hall.” Anne sets a bowl of biscuits out onto the table and butters one for Daisy, before Phoebe asks for one as well with a darling _please_ at the end.

“Why isn’t the wedding rehearsal the day before the wedding?” Harry scoops eggs onto Phoebe’s plate, but not Daisy’s, before Lottie and Fizzy come into the room and Jay carries Ernest and Doris in behind them.

“Because, we figure if we’re going to take up someone’s Christmas, we might as well leave them with their Christmas Eve. Besides, it’s Louis’ birthday tomorrow.”

And Harry definitely didn’t know that, but when he looks up to gauge for Louis’ reaction, he’s smiling at Harry, before turning his attention to Daisy and putting a spoonful of eggs on her plate, even after she fusses that she won’t have any. To make it all better, he draws a happy face on the plate with ketchup, and she doesn’t complain, especially once realizing he’s not doing the same for Phoebe.

Lottie’s on her phone when she seats herself beside Harry, and Fizzy sets out napkins for everyone at her mother’s request.

“When’s Gemma coming?” Harry asks while making his own plate up with toast and eggs. He hasn’t seen his sister for over a month, for she goes to school in London.

“She’s meeting us there.” Anne replies, and Harry’s about to have her elaborate and ask if she’s bringing her boyfriend to the wedding, until he can feel Louis’ foot against his leg and glances up from his fork to the culprit, who’s succeeding in putting up an innocent façade.

The distance between Harry and Louis is short enough for Louis’ leg to reach him, a socked foot tracing the inside of Harry’s thigh through his parted legs. With a start, Harry moves his chair back, Louis’ foot falling from where it teased against his leg. The sudden noise has attention drawn to Harry, even has Lottie setting down her phone, so as to not seem suspicious, Harry gets up to clear off his half eaten plate, telling his mum he’s not feeling very well and thinks he’s going to lie down before they have to leave.

Phoebe nags Harry to help her and Daisy get ready after breakfast regardless, barging into Harry’s room where he lays on his side, contemplating why Louis’ doing what he’s doing.

If it weren’t for the come and lube stains on the duvet, Harry would be trying to fall asleep and avoid the wedding rehearsal altogether, even though he knows he can’t. This is what having a big family is all about, anyway.

“Harry!” Phoebe calls into the room and runs forward, jumping up and down as she tugs on the edge of Harry’s duvet. “Mummy Anne says it’s your job to help Daisy and I get ready.”

Harry rolls over onto his front, unacknowledging Phoebe until he’s forced to when the poking of his back becomes too much.

Helping Daisy and Phoebe get ready is a lot more work than Harry’s cut out for because it requires the cooperation that they refuse to give him. Louis enters the bedroom before Harry gets too fed up, however, kneeling down in front of Daisy who’s complaining about the color of her dress.

“Daisy,” Louis sighs, “sweetheart, if you don’t wear that dress, I’m going to have to, and no one wants to see that.” He pouts jokingly, even though Daisy isn’t catching onto it, and Harry stifles a giggle into the collar of his shirt. “And then you’ll have to wear my clothes, and the whole wedding will be ruined.”

The convincing isn’t very logical, but it gets Daisy to cooperate and Phoebe follows her lead happily, allowing Harry to put a pink headband in her hair, and fix the short sleeves of her dress so the puffy areas aren’t scrunched up to her shoulder.

Harry’s about to call Louis his savior, Phoebe and Daisy leading them out of the room, when Louis suddenly holds his arm out in the doorway, peaking down the hall to where Daisy and Phoebe are taking the steps downstairs one at a time. His arm traps Harry into the twins’ bedroom, and before Harry knows it, the door is being closed and he’s being pushed against it.

Louis’ lips are fast and intentional and he slits a leg in between Harry’s thighs. By the time Harry’s comprehending what’s happening, there’s a hand on his bum and Louis’ murmuring against his mouth, “We’ve five minutes before everyone starts to leave, and I want all of them.”

Harry’s dreadfully confused until Louis has them kissing and walking at the same time, the backs of his shins hitting Phoebe’s low bed and hands are pressing on his chest to push him back.

“Your arse,” Louis whispers between kisses, bending down to straddle Harry and be at level with him, “is gonna look so good, all bright and red for me.”

The logic of Louis doing all of this, any of this, in fact, isn’t quite there. He’s older and could easily get any other boy who’s not going to be legally related to him in a matter of days. A boy who isn’t still in high school and lives at home and cleans baby vomit off his shirt for _fun_.

But it’s Harry whose jeans are brought down to his knees, boxers tagged along, before he’s pressed over Louis’ lap without protest.

Louis gropes Harry’s bare bum to get a feel for it, before he’s smacking it, quiet enough so that no one outside of the bedroom will hear and barge into the lockless room, but loud enough so that Harry can wince at the noise and try to peak behind to see if it stained his bum red, only for his back to be pressed back down and for Louis to mockingly tut him.

“Stay down, darling.” Louis reprimands, before there’s another smack, followed by Louis’ index finger tracing the back of his balls.

Harry starts to wince from the pain of the spankings, and after six that feel like too much to handle, especially with soft touches everywhere else on his body, he feels like he might cry, whimpering against the bed and gripping Louis’ leg for something to hold on to.

“I didn’t say you could touch me, Harry,” Louis hits his bum _again_ and Harry jumps in shock, “arms behind your back, now, we’ve only got about two minutes left before they come through that door looking for us.”

Harry obeys at the mention of being caught, wanting to hurry the process along for he can’t imagine his mum walking in on him like this. His cheeks flame at the thought, but his bum must shades darker.

“Are you going to tell me what you did wrong, darling?” Louis asks in a sweet tone that has Harry relaxing over his lap.

“I, um,” Harry clears his throat, finding it hard to speak whilst he tries to think back to last night and how he upset Louis, “I came when you said not to.”

“Are you going to do that again?”

“N-No.” Harry shakes his head, curls rubbing against the duvet and messing them from where they were styled in place.

“Not even to masturbate on your own? Not when I’m here, yeah?”

Harry freezes momentarily, not realizing that was what Louis had meant as well. He hadn’t realized that this _thing_ was supposed to be ongoing until Louis returned to Uni or that—

Harry doesn’t get a chance to think things over when Louis smacks his bum, following a repetition of his question in a much sterner tone.

“Y-Yes.” Harry nods his head urgently. “Won’t – I’m not going to come.”

By the time Harry and Louis make it downstairs, Harry’s wobbling from the aching of his bum and Louis’ as casual as ever.

Louis spends the drive to the hall rubbing the inside of Harry’s thigh, one hand on the steering wheel and one stretched to touch the half hard half bruised boy, and convincing the girls buckled in the back seat that they’re going to have a blast, getting to see old cousins and new cousins and eat cake and dance.

“And,” Louis adds in with a smile, looking into the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse at Phoebe’s wriggled up nose and Daisy’s crossed arms, both feeling particularly defiant all of a sudden (and it’s probably because Louis and Harry ditched them after they finished getting them ready), “if you get bored I can promise you a warm seat at the adults table where we talk about fun adult stuff like taxes and student loans and—“

“But Louis,” Phoebe frowns, sounding genuinely concerned for a six year old, “I don’t know what a taxes is and I think Daisy’s too young for the adult table. I can’t leave her.”

It’s – genuinely funny – and Harry can’t help but laugh and while doing so his hips shift and Louis’ hand slips further up his leg. It could’ve been done on purpose or not, but Louis’ hand is suddenly pressed to Harry’s barely tented skinny jeans, right at his crotch, and he goes silent while Daisy bickers with Phoebe about how they’re the same age.

Harry’s relieved when Louis finally makes it to the rented out hall and is fast to get out of the car, before helping Phoebe out of her car seat. It may or may not be intentionally set up that Louis has to help Daisy out (and if so, only because Phoebe gets the most attention from her older brother who they rarely see now that he’s away at school and Harry’s far too family oriented to not notice).

So that Phoebe doesn’t come running to hold Louis’ hand, like Daisy’s already doing, Harry carries Phoebe into the hall and finds the place already set up. Lottie and Fizzy helped get things ready with Jay and Anne ahead of time this morning, along with the help of some other relatives, and Harry finds that the spacious room looks great for a wedding rehearsal. It’s not so much of a rehearsal than a dinner, really, but for the sake of tradition the title remains, even if Anne and Jay settled on no rehearsal, as to keep the wedding authentic and exciting without feeling like everything has to go a certain way.

Phoebe’s wriggling to get out of Harry’s arms, so Harry sets her down to go play with Daisy and a few cousins that’ve already grouped together since their arrival. Louis says that he’s going to find his mum and see if she needs any help, so Harry follows, knowing that if it weren’t for Louis bringing it up, he’d be doing so, anyway.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Louis and Harry find Jay walking out of the restroom and Louis’ the first to speak, slipping a hand casually into the back pocket of his black jeggings. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry.

“Actually,” Jay digs into her purse, fishing out her keys, “we need you two to pick up dessert. You can use the truck.”

“Mum,” Louis grins and takes the keys, subtly wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist to bring him closer, “did you just confess to my car being total crap?”

Jay rolls her eyes and Harry and Louis are heading out in no time. Louis must’ve just wanted to fondle Harry’s red stained bum, for he slips the keys into Harry’s back pocket for him to have to slip out again once they’re outside moments later.

The drive to the bakery consists of Harry sitting closer to the window than Louis, legs close together whilst he avoids glancing Louis’ way. He’s careful in the way he leaves the car as well, walking up the stairs to the bakery a good foot away from Louis, who’s handsier than originally thought.

Louis doesn’t get a chance to touch Harry while he’s collecting stock piles of bakery goods and asking Harry to put the cake in the trunk.

Harry’s confused when Louis passes by the hall after a few minutes of driving, and is about to ask what’s going on until they’re pulling into an abandoned lot and the car’s turned off, the noise of the heat stopping along with the low hum of _The Fray_ on the radio.

“What’re we doing here?” Harry frowns. “There’s enough parking at the hall, Louis.” He turns to glance at Louis, who’s unbuckling.

Louis’ fingers are nimble and cool on his face that’d been previously exposed to the warm air of Jay’s heater. His thumb rubs up Harry’s cheekbone in a gentle caressing, before he’s leaning forward. Harry’s convinced Louis’ going to kiss him, before there’s lips and sounds murmuring against his mouth.

“I really want to fuck you.”

Harry’s insides stir and his cock twitches in his jeans. The burn on his bum heightens from the words that have his heartbeat vibrating in his chest.

Louis laughs at Harry’s frigid reaction, pulling back with a chuckle and crinkled eyes. Harry glances awkwardly through the windshield, watching the dirty snow on the ground that they’re expected to get more of tonight. And then more on Christmas and probably more after that.

Anne and Jay are lucky to be going to Aruba for their honeymoon, far from England and far from the cold.

Harry’s cold, and instead of asking if Louis could turn the car back on and the heat up, he asks, “Can we go back now?” in a much smaller voice than intended. The thing is, he’s a bit tired and a lot overwhelmed, confused mostly by Louis and what’s happening. Regardless, they shouldn’t be doing this, and their parents are getting bloody married. It’s not fair on them to have Louis and Harry’s sexual tension ruin things.

Louis leans over to kiss Harry on the cheek quickly, before turning the car back on and making his way out of the lot swiftly, hand behind Harry’s seat as he checks behind him to make sure no cars are coming while he backs out.

An uncle of someone that Harry doesn’t know helps them unload the dessert, and by then just about everyone’s arrived. It’s four, so the main course isn’t going to be set out until a couple of hours, but there’s snacks at each table and a table full of food that’s enough to hold someone over.

Harry only recognizes half the people there, which makes sense for he doesn’t know anyone from the Tomlinson family outside of Jay and her kids. It’s constant introductions, one after another after another, until Gemma shows up and tells Harry to keep Nick busy while she gets something to drink and greets the mums.

Harry has a plastic cup full of coke spiked with (what he believes to be) alcohol in front of him at a mostly empty table from when someone from Louis’ side of the family offered to buy him a drink after complimenting how cute he was. She looked middle aged and didn’t question how old Harry was or whether or not he should be drinking, and he was glad to get away from the bar moments after, cup in hand.

“How’s the moving?” Nick asks, getting a handful of M&Ms out of the dish in the center of the table while Harry picks at the table cloth.

“Good,” Harry smiles, for he’s always liked Nick, especially in comparison to the rest of Gemma’s past boyfriends, “we’re almost done, for the most part and it’s only really the younger ones of Jay’s kids who’re lacking behind.”

“How many are there again?” Nick asks, genuinely curious, and it’s something Harry really likes about him. How he’s capable of being intrigued in a conversation, and even when he probably couldn’t care less, he still laughs along and politely asks questions to show interest.

“Um,” Harry thinks, mentally counting, “five, not including Ernest and Doris."

“Oh my god,” Nick laughs, “that must be terrible!”

Harry laughs along with Nick, before there’s suddenly a hand placed on the back of his chair and a curious, “What must be terrible?”

He feels caught – like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, even though that makes no sense at all. Nick’s Gemma’s boyfriend, not Harry’s, and they were just casually chatting and joking about. But there’s a slight itching of tenseness in Louis’ tone, so Harry turns to look behind him and smiles softly regardless.

“Um, Nick, this is Louis.” Harry introduces, turning back around to look at Nick who’s glancing at Louis with confusion. “Louis, this is Nick, Gemma’s—“

“Oh my god, you must be Harry’s boyfriend.” Gemma suddenly appears behind Nick and instead of sitting down beside him, she leans over the table, holding out her hand to shake Louis’.

Harry’s seriously about to correct her, not understanding why anyone would even assume that when Louis is noticeably a few years older and he even _looks_ like his sisters and Jay, but Louis sets his hand on Harry’s shoulder, shakes Gemma’s hand, and smiles in agreement.

“Right, right,” Gemma sits down, quickly correcting herself, “I’m Harry’s sister, Gemma. It’s great to meet you. Harry appears to have been hiding you away.”

Harry’s about to absolutely die of embarrassment, until Nick saves him and casually asks Louis if he’s at work or school, before asking where he goes.

“Hey, you know who goes there,” Gemma hums at the mention of Manchester University, “I think Jay’s son does. Maybe you know him?” She offers.

“Actually Louis’ not—“ Harry begins, hoping he can confess smoothly, even if it’s not his lie.

But Louis interrupts. He sets a hand on Harry’s thigh under the table with a smile, and says, “Yeah, maybe.” his reply outshining Harry’s attempt at one. Louis picks up Harry’s untouched coke and sniffs it, eyes widening as he chuckles, “Darling, what’s this?”

“I, um, some lady gave it to me.” Harry glances down uncomfortably, but looks back up to watch Louis take a sip that drains the cup noticeably. Nick and Gemma are talking amongst each other, and Harry’s terribly confused when the rim of the cup it pushed toward his lips and Louis’ urging him to drink from it.

Terribly confused.

By the time Louis’ done with the cup and feeding sips to Harry, there’s nothing left but plastic and he gets up to throw it away with a hand cupping the back of Harry’s neck gently.

“Oh my god,” Gemma gasps the second Louis’ gone, “how the hell did you find such a hot boyfriend?”

“Hey!” Nick frowns and tosses an M&M at Gemma, who completely ignores him out of utter fascination. It makes sense, Harry figures, because Louis’ hair looks _so_ good in a quiff and he has _tattoos_ that peaks out of the collar of his red t-shirt. He’s wearing jeggings that’re slim fitting and cuffed around his ankles, and _his fucking ankles._ Harry’s never liked anyone’s ankles half as much as he likes Louis’, and the way they melt into his vans, blended up to his calves, his knee, and his thighs, and bum that’re just as thick and well-shaped as Harry could dream for them to be.

Harry’s in love. In a dramatically teenage sense that’s not quite as real as the words themselves, of course.

Louis being Harry’s boyfriend doesn’t last nearly as long as Harry would like, for Louis comes back to the table tickling Ernest’s tummy and giggling into his neck, Jay in toe with Doris.

“Harry,” Jay smiles, “do you think you could help Louis feed the twins? They’re due for a nap soon, and I don’t want them to be up all night.” She hands Doris to Harry, before noticing Gemma, whose confusion is clear. “And Gemma, it’s lovely to see you again. Have you met my son, Louis?”

Louis grins with a small smirk at Gemma, holding up Ernest’s small hand to wave, whilst she gapes at him. And _holy fuck_. It’s definitely not the best way for the two to meet, but Nick can’t help but snicker nevertheless.

Nick is introduced to Jay while Harry offers Doris her bottle and she accepts a lot more contently than normal. It must be the hum of the music playing around them and the warm swarm of family. She must realize that they’re safe and related. Either that, or the glow Harry gets in his chest from family is traveling to hers, infecting her with a loving and chipper vibe that has her hands reaching out for the bottle, even if she can’t quite hold it on her own without dropping it yet.

“You’re a little shit!” Gemma exclaims the second Jay’s gone. She’s laughing, nevertheless. “You’re lucky you’re holding a baby, or I’d be hitting you with my purse.”

“Gemma,” Harry frowns in all seriousness, “don’t curse in front of the babies.”

“Aw,” Louis coos and leans over to kiss Harry on the cheek, which may be a bit much but it’s not at all out of character, something Gemma and Nick are soon to learn, “isn’t he just the sweetest?”

Doris falls asleep on Harry’s shoulder in a matter of seconds after she’s done with her bottle, and Louis suggests they bring the twins to Jay, where they’re meant to reside in bassinets for the rest of the night. When they return back to the table, Gemma and Nick have plates of food in front of them and Phoebe’s talking to Gemma about school while Daisy’s shyly staying quiet beside her.

Louis makes a joke that Harry laughs a bit too hard at, and the alcohol from the drink makes him feel a bit looser than before. He’s a light weight, and in all truth, has barely ever drank before today.

Louis’ sweet in helping Harry make his plate of food, telling him he’ll feel better once he has some carbs in him (which means lots of lasagna and pasta salad, even though they’re not Italian).

The rehearsal dinner lasts longer than a dinner would, and it’s more so a pre-wedding party. Harry spends a good chunk of his time chatting with Nick and Gemma, Louis having to leave to talk to relatives. At some point Jay asks to dance with Harry, and on the dance floor is where he notices Louis cheekily twirling Anne. Photos are taken to build memories and Harry laughs when Louis bows at Anne, sarcastically and exaggeratedly.

Louis’ friends, Niall and Zayn and Liam, have family who’re friends with Jay, so they’re there as well, snagging Louis away for a smoke outside, and once Louis’ done dancing, it no longer seems to be much fun anymore for Harry, as if Louis was quite literally the life of the party, and the second he left the party died.

But it’s not like that for the rest of everyone there. Anne and Jay have a blast along with aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins, and family friends, all unnamable for the most part.

And Harry doesn’t know why he goes outside – he doesn’t smoke and he has no reason to step out into the brisk dark, a wintery cold floating through the air – but he does, anyway.

“Harry!” Niall hugs Harry the instant he catches a glimpse of him on the backdoor’s steps, street lights nearby illuminating their faces. Niall has a fag in one hand and Harry’s waist in another, smoking blowing against Harry’s cheek in a way that’s a bit warming through the cold, and probably impolite if it weren’t Niall doing it. Something about him and being capable of getting away mannerless.

“Harry, this is Liam.” For some reason, Louis’ grinning around his cigarette and casually leans against the railing of the top of the stairs, stood beside Liam and across from Zayn.

“Hi, um, nice to meet you.” Harry smiles sweetly, head ducked a bit because he knows he’s surrounded by older men, a purposeless blush on his cheeks.

“Do you want one?” Niall offers an open carton toward Harry.

“No,” Louis interrupts, “he doesn’t.”

“Why not?” Harry knows that he wouldn’t have said yes, anyway, but he’s curious as to why Louis doesn’t want him smoking. There’s a warm bubble in his stomach at the sound of Louis making decisions for him in such a certain tone, even if they’re ones he was going to give the same response to himself.

Louis reaches over and pulls Harry into his side, their jackets brushing and body heat spreading. “I can’t be having your pretty mouth go to waste,” Louis murmurs into Harry’s ear, and it’s not loud, but not quiet enough for Louis’ friends to ignore, “mummy Anne won’t be too happy about that.”

It’s another mention of family mixed with a sexual comment, and Harry’s too baffled to reply.

“So, Liam,” Zayn clears his throat, “how are you, man? How’s school?”

There’s a lot of chatter that Harry can’t keep up with, but he stays contently by Louis’ side anyway, melting into the way Louis rubs his back. He could easily fall asleep, even in the cold and smoke surrounding him, but then there’s the back door opening and Jay’s head popping out, asking Louis and Harry when they plan to go home.

“I can leave now if you want me to bring the girls home.” Harry offers, about to step away from Louis when the arm around him tightens and Louis’ pulling him closer into his side.

“That would be great, Harry, thank you so much.” Jay tells Harry that Daisy and Phoebe are asleep at a table and the younger set are in their car seats in the back room, asleep all the same and waiting to get home. Lottie, a few years younger than Harry, but old enough to stay longer, doesn’t have a license and Fizzy can tag along if it’s not too much trouble.

“I’ll come with you.” Louis murmurs into Harry’s ear once his mum is gone, before saying bye to his friends who promise to take him out to dinner for his birthday sometime before he has to go back to school. Liam mentions of how nice it was to catch up, even if it was briefly, before Harry’s hand is held in Louis’ gloved fingers and he’s led back inside, through a mob of half-drunk half-sober relatives, and toward the twins.

Louis and Harry each get a twin and a baby and Fizzy drags herself behind them, taking a seat in between Phoebe and Daisy in the back of the car. While Harry attaches Ernest’s car seat into the middle row, Louis does Doris’, and then they’re off and Harry can’t help but grin at the feeling of family swarming through his lungs and intoxicating his head.

Phoebe and Daisy are carried one by one up the stairs while Fizzy hurries inside and Louis stays in the car with the twins. The transportation of everyone inside is domestic and cute and Louis teases Harry about making a good parent one day whilst they both carry the twins into the house, Doris against Harry’s shoulder and Ernest against Louis’.

They’re set in their cribs and Harry tucks Fizzy in, only proving Louis correct further, while Louis takes a shower downstairs.

It’s a few minutes past midnight by the time Harry’s digging into his drawer for a pair of clean boxers, towel around his waist. His clothes are neatly put away and folded, unlikely Louis’ mess of drawers, so it shouldn’t be hard, except it is when Louis comes into the room, clean and only in sleek black boxers that cling to his thighs and front.

“Why don’t you sleep naked?” Louis casually suggests, approaching Harry gradually, before he’s leaning against the bureau, beside Harry much like Harry was beside him during the dildo incident. At the thought, Harry glances at the drawer that keeps the pink toy.

“Louis?” Harry finds a pair of boxers that’re loose and comfortable for bed, but makes no move to change, closing his drawer and turning to face Louis. Their faces are inches apart and in front of one another, and Harry’s heart beats heavily in his chest as he speaks again. “My bum still hurts.” He murmurs softly, and he’s not sure why, but he wants to tell Louis, wants to know what his reaction’s going to be.

“Do you want me to put lotion on it, love? I think mummy Anne has some in the bathroom.”

And Harry had genuinely expected Louis to smirk or laugh, not concern with a soft voice in return.

“Do you want me to go softer next time? You can always tell me, love.”

Harry thinks he’s going to drift off into space with the way Louis’ gone suddenly so fragile with him, like Harry’s going to break if he speaks an octave higher than he already is.

But then there’s the snag of Louis’ words that catch him like a thorn does a loose t-shirt in the wind. _Next time_ means it’s going to happen again – or that Louis at least wants it to happen again and Harry leans against the bureau, head going a bit dizzy at the idea and the meaning behind it all.

“Here,” Louis tugs gently at Harry’s towel, just to loosen it and urge him to take it off when he’s ready. He guides the lanky seventeen year old toward his bed, before pushing him in the lightest manner onto his stomach. Louis leans down, murmurs, “I’ll be right back.” into Harry’s ear, before he’s gone.

Louis adjusts the towel down Harry’s waist when he returns, kneeling on the bed. He gapes at the red handprints still on Harry’s bum, the way his hands seem to have bruised into Harry’s skin.

“Have you seen this?” Louis asks, quietly and gulping and incredibly hard.

“What?” Harry lifts his head off of his pillow in confusion. Louis gets off of Harry’s bed to get his phone that’s charging on his, and comes back to take a photo of Harry’s bum, before handing his phone to Harry while he covers his palm with a blob of crème.

Harry gapes at his own bum, and how terribly red it is. It doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks, but close enough. His fingers slip on the picture, slide across the screen, and the next photo, the last photo taken outside of that of his bum, is from the day Louis came home from Uni – three (or more so four, for technically it’s already Christmas Eve) days ago at the dinner table.

Except, that’d been taken on Lottie’s phone, and –

Harry whimpers softly when Louis’ hand falls delicately on his bum. It could be the careful caressing or the pain of pressure resting there, but the latter wouldn’t make much sense with Harry having to have suffered all night, sitting on his bum, dancing with his bum, and whatever else he had to do.

Louis’ quiet as Harry absentmindedly stares at the picture of himself on Louis’ phone, which must’ve been texted from Lottie’s phone to Louis’. The thought has Harry bucking his hips off the bed and leaning into Louis’ touch, where Louis presses Harry’s hips back down gently by his sides, and he murmurs, “Be still, Harry.”

Harry’s head lulls to rest on his arms, and he turns Louis’ phone off, scrolling back to the picture of his bum first, as to not seem suspicious. Louis’ fingers trace his bum with the crème, rubbing it in ever so gently that it has shivers running their way up Harry’s back, the small hairs standing up.

“Lou?” Harry asks, quietly as to not disturb Louis’ meticulous thinking and work on his bum.

“Yeah, Harry?”

“Do you think you could, um,” Harry clears his throat, finding it near impossible to speak over the lump in his throat, “use the dildo in the drawer on me sometime?”

Louis freezes what he’s doing momentarily, and his fingers just rest on Harry’s bum whilst he’s turned to stone in shock.

“Don’t you think you want to do it yourself, first?” Louis furrows his eyebrows in confusion, because his train of thought is clearly much different than Harry’s.

“No,” Harry shakes his head in his arms gently, letting his face rest near his pillows, “I want you to do it for me.”

Louis doesn’t give a definite reply, or say anything, really. He goes back to rubbing in crème on Harry’s bum, which eventually goes to his upper thighs, and then Harry not so accidently pushes his hips closer to Louis, bum up, and –

“Can you touch me?” Harry asks, hesitantly. Louis already is touching him, but they both know how he means, and this is the most silent Harry’s ever heard Louis get.

Louis’ fingers drag up to Harry’s bum, but don’t stop, holding onto Harry’s love handles and pressing his hips back into the duvet. His bum falls with the rest of his body, and then there’s two hands gently pulling his bum cheeks apart and Harry definitely – he didn’t know what he’d originally meant by touch. He just wanted more.

“Tomorrow,” Louis hums, “we’ll try the vibrator out on you.”

Even through the images that Louis’ words cause to run through Harry’s head, Harry’s eyelids grow heavy and his shoulders slump against the mattress. Falling asleep with Louis’ hands on him is by far a better way to go under than covered in come and with a grudge held against him, like the night before.

**One Day Until The Wedding**

Harry wakes with his covers tucked neatly around and under his body, and it’s the feeling of security that tells him Louis had made sure to tuck him in the night before, keeping him warm and comfortable throughout the night.

After getting ready for the day, he finds Louis downstairs on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, with Ernest squirming about in his lap, clearly having chosen his favorite twin. Harry thinks about how Ernest is like Phoebe and Daisy’s Doris, and takes Doris out of her playpen at the thought, seating himself beside Louis so their sides are pressed together, even if they have the whole couch to sit.

“How’s your bum?” Louis asks with his pointer finger caught in Ernest’s hand. There’s no one else in the room and Harry’s pretty sure his mum and Jay are upstairs, so there’s no worry, although there still is. Like how they shouldn’t be doing any of this to begin with – how his mum and Louis’ would react if only they knew.

“S’good.” Harry murmurs quietly, “It’s better.”

“That’s good.” Louis hums and Harry can smell his after shave and body wash and the scent of new born babies and breast milk.

There’s a long moment of silence, and Ernest fills it with his squeals the second Louis’ hands come at his tummy. Harry supports Doris’ head as he watches her try to fit his finger in her mouth, but fails, movements lousy and drunk off of her twin’s giggles.

“Happy birthday.” Harry looks up at Louis after a long while, smiling lightly, and Louis laughs, leaning forward to kiss Harry on the forehead.

“Thank you, love.”

There’s a late breakfast, turning into a lunch with plates of food and lots of jam and muffins, with everyone present including Gemma. Louis eats with Phoebe on his lap after she insists, and Harry takes bites of his food with Louis’ foot rubbing his ankle from under the table.

“So, Louis, how’s it feel to be twenty-three?” Anne asks, followed by a snort from Lottie.

“Yeah, Louis, how’s it feel to be an old man with hair loss and no husband to show?”

“Lottie!” Jay gasps, but laughs anyway, and Harry snorts into his glass of milk, from where Louis kicks his leg a bit harder than for it to be an accident, and it only causes him to laugh harder.

“Jeez, Lottie, I’m twenty-three, not forty.” Louis rolls his eyes. “And I don’t have hair loss.”

“Hey!” Gemma suddenly exclaims, “If Louis’ old, then I’m a senior citizen. I just turned twenty-four a few months back.”

“Well, you see Gems, that’s the thing. At least _you’re_ pretty.”

“God,” Louis groans, “I liked you better when you were texting your girlfriend at the table.”

A lot more bickering follows – _I do not!_ and _Lottie, leave your brother alone, he’s only twenty-three!_ – but it’s with love and care and Harry notices the faint smiles on Jay and Anne’s faces, their children mingling in one way or another.

It’s just that, some are mingling in different ways and Louis’ foot tracing the perimeter of Harry’s ankle is one.

Gemma ends up going out to spend time with Nick and his family and Lottie heads over to a friend’s house, followed by Jay and Anne heading out for last minute food shopping (which is, apparently, a lot for it’s all for tonight’s dinner and Harry and Louis when they watch the kids while Jay and Anne are in Aruba).

Nevertheless, Harry and Louis are left alone with Fizzy and both sets of twins and, naturally, Louis suggests they watch a film, for the babies are upstairs napping and Phoebe and Daisy are nagging their boredom.

“But we don’t want to watch a movie.” Phoebe frowns and tugs on Louis’ shirt from where he’s flipping through the channels to find something. “It’s _all_ we do.”

Louis nods, like he understands the problem, and Harry watches him stand, declaring, “Fine, then we’ll play a game.”

Whatever Louis’ decided upon is a distortion of Go Fish where he refuses to give away his sixes and Daisy and Phoebe snag it away from him anyway. Harry has all of the fours but one, and a mix of other cards from having to go fish.

“Harry,” Louis hums and glances over the (practically) deck of cards between his fingers. Fizzy rolls her eyes, just in time for Louis to ask, “Do you have any fours?” Harry smiles and collects his fours, about to hand them over, when Louis says, “I’ve changed my mind, I want threes. From you, Phoebe, give ‘em up.”

“Hey!” Phoebe protests, clutching her cards to her chest to protect them. “You can’t do that.”

“Mmm, but I have.” Louis grins. “Harry’s too cute to take cards from, don’t you think?”

Phoebe completely freezes and looks to Harry, really looks at him until she nods her head and sighs, handing her two threes over that complete Louis’ book. The squeezing of Harry’s cheek is probably unnecessary, but not completely out of place.

Harry helps Daisy cheat two games out of two, and only Louis appears to notice, although he doesn’t say anything. Once everyone’s bored with cards, they go back to watching a movie, in which everyone falls asleep including Harry, and he’s woken up to Louis whispering for him to come with him.

Harry doesn’t know where they’re going or why Louis’ in such a rush, but groggily follows behind him upstairs, like a few days back, and if it ends the same way, then it’s totally worth a disruption of his nap.

“Take off your clothes.” Louis says the moment the bedroom door is locked and Harry’s standing in the middle of the room, clueless. While Harry takes off his shirt and wrestles with his belt, Louis goes into his bureau drawer, the one that keeps the toy Harry’s only slightly infatuated with.

“M-My lubes in—“

“S’alright, darling.” Louis interrupts Harry, “’Ve got some too, y’know. Is strawberry alright? It doesn’t taste like much but it smells half alright.”

And frankly, Harry would take it even if it smelled awful, because Louis crawling over him and sucking a hickey into his collarbone is worth it.

Louis’ hands are small but stern and find their way everywhere all over Harry’s body – from his wrists to his thighs. His mouth makes its rounds over Harry’s pale skin, before he stops everything to pull down Harry’s boxers with the permission of a small nod from Harry. He’s gentle, and Harry feels like a prince.

Louis’ careful in the amount of lube he coats his index finger in, before tracing Harry’s hole with the tip of it, trying to make the process as easy as possible.

“Have you ever done this before, love?” Louis asks, and looks up from where he kneels in between Harry’s legs. “Even just to yourself?”

Harry shakes his head no and Louis raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question it.

“It won’t hurt, in case you’re worrying. I know how to make it nice and smooth for a virgin like you.”

Harry gulps, unsure if they’re going to have sex, and the thing is, everything they do is in Louis’ hands, because he’s willing to do whatever with Louis, because he’s just so lovely and it’s overwhelming.

Making sure to calm his breathing, Harry’s hyperaware of Louis’ finger breeching inside of him, slowly, so that it doesn’t hurt. There’s a faint smell of fruity strawberry in the air, the lube tinted pink, and there’s enough of it so that Louis’ finger slides in smoothly.

Harry closes his eyes for a moment to recollect himself, when a minute later Louis has two fingers pumping in and out of him.

“The vibrators not too big,” Louis murmurs, “so you don’t have anything to worry about, in case you were wondering. I normally just do three before fitting it in.”

“Th-Three fingers?” Harry stutters when Louis hits his prostate and his hips move forward, only for Louis to rub his hip with his free hand, keeping him still and calm.

“Yeah.” Louis nods, casually.

“Y-Yours?”

“’Course, love, who else’s?”

Harry doesn’t respond – can’t when Louis has three fingers in his bum and he feels so full, like the dildo is already in.

Louis pumps his fingers in and out of Harry for a few minutes, letting him adjust and making sure he’s alright. He takes his time, gradually, with the girls asleep downstairs, and Harry feels cherished. Loved, almost.

“We don’t have to turn on the vibrator.” Louis tells Harry when he’s taking his hand out, tracing a finger around Harry’s stretched rim. “If it’s too much, yeah?”

Harry nods his head, listening.

“And I want to do something for you, if you don’t mind.” Louis leans over Harry’s body, entwining one of their hands, and Harry doesn’t even mind that it’s the one that’d just been inside him. He feels cleaner than ever, if anything.

“W-What?” Harry can’t think of what more there may be. What more is there?

“I want,” Louis kisses Harry’s neck, and Harry just wants him to get on with it already, to tell him, and to fill him up again because he’s incredibly hard, and with no attention paid to his cock, it almost feels neglected. There’s a needless worry that his hole is going to shrink back to its small, normal size, and Harry’s not going to have it. “I want to ride you, with the vibrator up your bum.” Louis whispers, watching Harry’s Adam’s apple bob up and down, fresh and sharp in his neck from puberty.

“Louis?” Harry murmurs softly in the near empty house. “I really need to come.”

Louis laughs against his cheek, and tells him, “Go for it, darling.”

Harry’s never felt more loved.

Getting the vibrator inside of Harry goes surprisingly smooth, much to Harry’s relief, partially due to how opened up he is, and also because Harry’s come Louis’d rubbed on it before pushing the tip toward Harry’s entrance.

Harry’s come once and he’s already hard again, breathing heavily as he watches Louis open himself up between kisses. He wishes he were the one with his fingers inside of Louis, but knows that he can’t handle it right now, not with the low buzz of the vibrator, and definitely not with how Louis’ straddling his waist, in front of his cock where it presses against Louis’ bum every few seconds.

Louis finds a condom in his wallet and makes sure Harry wants to do this before he covers the seventeen year old in the fainted pink lube that makes the air and Louis’ bed smell fresh and clean.

“Can I turn the vibrator up one?” Louis asks when he’s about to put Harry inside of him, and Harry didn’t even know there were settings, just thought it was a one buzz fits all kind of thing.

But Harry nods his head, trusting Louis and trusting his intentions, most importantly. He’s never had sex before – has never been inside anyone, and never had anything inside him, so it’s a lot of firsts to conquer at once, and a lot of things to wrap his head around. Yet, he manages.

When pressing the button to make the vibrating faster, the dildo pushes further inside of Harry, and he moans out in a cry that rings through Louis’ ears, encouraging him to go noticeably faster with his actions, even if Harry’s on the verge of coming again.

The noise and the face Harry makes, however, once he’s inside of Louis and can feel the tightness of being inside of someone, around him, (which is quite frankly overwhelming) beats everything he’s done to turn Louis on.

And Louis doesn’t mean to turn the vibrator up another setting without Harry’s permission, without being told that it’s okay, but reaching behind him and fumbling with the end of it is done by instinct, in hopes of overwhelming Harry more than possible.

“L-Louis,” Harry practically cries, but doesn’t tell Louis to stop, even when he starts to move off of Harry, only to move back down. It’s more about pleasing Harry than Louis, and Louis’ fine with it, so long as he makes Harry’s first time worth remembering.

But Harry’s seventeen and very obviously not in control of a lot of the things he does, like coming a second time without permission.

“Shh, just let it out, darling.” Louis whispers when he notices Harry starting to cry over an apology for not asking for permission first, and taking advantage of his previous allowance of coming.

Louis goes faster, up and down Harry’s cock, and Harry watches him press his hands into his chest, refraining from turning the vibrator up. Harry feels impossible, like _How on Earth is this even **possible**? _ to feel so good, with so much attention on him solely.

“Can you come one more time?” Louis asks, and Harry knows that, at this point, it’s all he can do, for he’s hard again and Louis’ bum is so tight and feels so good when it sinks down onto him and brushes against his balls.

“T-Try.” Harry nods his head anyway, trying to seem like he’s doing it for Louis, to please _Louis_ even though he knows he’d need to do it anyway. The vibrator is turned up to the final setting with Harry’s confirmation that it’s okay and Louis has to press his hand down onto Harry’s mouth to stop him from screaming and waking the girls downstairs.

Harry’s chest rises and falls impossibly fast – like a roller coaster going up and down – and Louis wipes the tears under Harry’s eyes away, continuing his thrusts.

“You need to stay quiet, Harry,” Louis whispers, “we don’t need the girls waking up to find us gone and wondering where we went.”

“L-Louis.” Harry murmurs against Louis’ palm, which isn’t pressed very hard to his mouth and allows room for his lips to move and throat to make out sounds.

“That’s it,” Louis smiles and watches Harry’s body turn to jello as he comes inside of Louis, comes for the third time in a row, and Louis follows, painting the seventeen year old’s chest white without being touched once.

Louis takes care of Harry afterwards. He turns off the dildo and eases it out of him slowly, watching him whimper and breathe heavily from just coming more times than his body would regularly allow.

Louis puts on boxers to get a wet cloth for Harry, taking his condom off for him, before wiping his face, his stomach, and then his limp cock.

“C-Can you lay with me?” Harry asks when Louis’ about to leave the room to go downstairs, and he doesn’t mean to ask for too much or be needy, but he can’t help wanting Louis’ attention as much as Daisy does, or as much as Phoebe gets.

But Louis nods his head and smiles like he couldn’t care at all, resting beside Harry and wrapping an arm around his waist, spooning him as the little spoon who’s just had their first time.

Who’s just had their first time with a man who’s six years old and about to be his step-brother in less than twenty-four hours.

It’s comforting, though, Louis’ mouth kissing his back and rubbing his arm, and asking him if he’s alright – if his bum hurts and if he’s ever come three times in a row before.

“No.” Harry blushes. “Twice, once, but it was on accident.” Louis laughs in Harry’s ear. “I swear.” There’s a moment of silence, of the only noise being the snow blowing around outside, until Harry asks, “Have you?”

“My records five.” Louis mouths at Harry’s ear, absorbing the glow of shock he receives from the confession. “It takes time, though. You shouldn’t just do it all at once like that. You’re just a little fetus with no stamina, so I guess it’s alright for you.”

“Fetus?” Harry frowns. “Like a—“

“Shut it.” Louis kisses the center of the back of Harry’s head. “C’mon,” Louis sighs, “we need to go downstairs and seem unsuspicious.”

There’s a big dinner for Louis, followed by a cake with twenty-three candles and a cheer of happy birthdays. Harry sits next to Louis and as he blows out the candle, he sets a hand on Harry’s thigh, and it could be just for him to get a grasp in order to lean forward on the table – or it could be because he wanted to touch him. Harry chooses to believe the latter.

Harry stays up late playing Santa for Jay and Anne and jumps into Louis’ bed as soon as he’s done, snuggling close and rubbing his cold nose into Louis’ neck.

“Well come under the covers, love.” Louis frowns and pulls back the duvet for Harry.

“Can’t,” Harry whispers, shaking his head, “the girls are gonna wake us in a few hours and I can’t fall asleep here.”

Louis hums, pulling Harry closer and half asleep.

“M’sorry I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.” Harry murmurs against Louis’ chin, stubble brushing his lips, although he finds himself not minding too much. It’s kind of nice, even though it burns a little.

“But didn’t you, Harry?” Louis asks, hinting at something Harry’s not catching onto. “You gave me your virginity, hm? That beats a gift card to Niall and Zayn’s ratty old shop, any day.”

Giggling into Louis’ skin, Harry has to stop himself from falling asleep. Even if Louis’ body is melting him away.

**The Wedding**

“A wedding on Christmas was a terrible idea!” Jay’s running around the house, searching for a bottle of nail polish she can’t seem to find, and Anne’s still in the shower. Harry’s trying to stay out of everyone’s way, because apparently they’d spent too long opening presents and they have to be at the church in two hours – which apparently also isn’t enough time to prepare for a wedding.

But the wedding doesn’t start for another four, which gives Jay and Anne four hours to get ready overall, and Harry’s just glad it takes him thirty minutes to get ready at most. At this point, he’s very glad he has a penis and will never have to go through applying eyeliner until the wing’s just right.

Harry needs to shower, then feed the twins, then the older twins. He needs to make sure both sets are dressed and ready and – Louis’ in the downstairs shower.

Which, okay.

Harry doesn’t mean to slump against the door and sigh in annoyance, but he does, and then the door opens like that was the magic code, and he’s being tugged inside.

“Hi, darling.” Louis’ naked and the ceiling fans on, so he’s clearly about to shower, but then there’s Harry, who’s standing in front of him, still in his pajamas and gaping. “You gonna shower with me, or what?”

Harry swallows something thick down his throat and nods his head with much certainty. He knows they shouldn’t be doing this (especially when there’s the twins and Fizzy and Lottie and their mums walking past the door to get ready themselves) but there’s a lock on the knob and it’s turned.

Louis helps Harry undress as a form of encouragement, before Harry’s towel is set on a hook and he’s being tugged past the glass door and against the tiled wall.

Harry watches with his back pressed to cold tiles as Louis turns on the shower to a temperature hotter than he’s used to. The cold water comes up first, but carelessly Louis ignores it and focuses on Harry, leaning against him and pressing their lips together.

“Look at us,” Louis laughs, “mummy Anne would be so proud, saving time by killing two birds with one stone.”

“What birds?” Harry squints.

“Both of our shower’s, silly. And also, your morning wood, if we’re being honest.”

Harry wakes up hard every day, so it’s not really a big thing or anything. He normally gets it down before he leaves his room, but since being pushed into the bathroom with Louis, it’s returned.

Harry could probably do without the image of Louis getting on his knees in front of him fresh in his mind on his mothers’ wedding day, but he gets it, anyway, even if it’s quick and fast and deep in order to not get caught. Even if it’s done under unwanted pretenses, like them being legally step-brothers in a few hours.

Louis stalls their exit of the bathroom. There’s a long process of washing Harry’s hair in the shower in between kisses, followed by Louis making sure Harry’s completely dry before he gets dressed. Whilst Louis blow dries his hair, Harry sits on the counter and watches between kisses. It’s oddly domestic, but Louis doesn’t comment on it, so neither does Harry.

Louis peaks out of the bathroom door to make sure no one’s nearby before hurrying Harry out. He follows behind, but they go opposite ways once they reach the main hall. Louis heads upstairs whilst Harry heads into the kitchen, finding the babies in their high chairs and Jay warming their bottles.

“You haven’t happened to see Louis around, have you?”

Harry freezes, frigid like he’s gotten caught, but knows that he hasn’t when Jay smiles her regular, warming smile, that he suspects is supposed to be welcoming him into the Tomlinson family.

“I think he went upstairs.” Harry clears his throat. “I saw him walk by when I was leaving the bathroom.”

“What was he doing in the laundry room?” Jay frowns, but doesn’t expect an answer from Harry, and Harry absolutely freezes.

The downstairs bathroom is in a short hallway that ends with the laundry room, so if he wasn’t in the bathroom, he’d have to have been in the laundry room. There’s no reason to go down there and Jay knows Louis well enough to know he doesn’t do the laundry. Harry even knows, for Christ’s sake.

Louis comes downstairs, as to not seem suspicious, and smiles, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders in an unsuspicious, totally friendly sort of way.

“I was looking for my dress pants, mum.” Louis steps away from Harry to grab Ernest’s bottle, finding him drooling all over a toy.

“Hmm,” Jay frowns, hums, “I could’ve sworn I brought them up to your room, but maybe not.”

“Maybe not.” Louis echoes, and ignores the entire possibility of maybe so as he aims the bottle toward Ernest’s mouth, hoping he’ll accept with happiness and not break into another crying fit.

Harry feeds Doris and lets out a sigh of relief when the two ticking time bombs don’t cry or fill their diapers before it’s expected. Harry has just enough time to change into his tuxedo before Phoebe and Daisy start whining that they’re hungry and almost walk in on Louis straddling him.

Louis and Harry part the second they reach the church. Jay has one room, and Anne the other. Gemma’s in charge of watching Daisy and Phoebe, and Jay and Anne’s parents have the babies, so Harry sticks with Anne, fetching her a glass of water and fishing her nail polish out of her purse for a last minute coat on her toes, and Louis, Fizzy, and Lottie assist Jay.

Harry’s bored, is the thing, because Anne also has a bunch of family friends and relatives (her bridesmaids) in her room of the chapel (which, apparently, was built for weddings and that’s why everything’s so nice, including the sofa he’s slumped on). Naturally, Harry scrolls through his contact list, hoping that he can find someone to text (like, maybe Aiden didn’t go to the States for the holidays and Harry can text him without being charged his entire life savings for long distance).

But Harry doesn’t expect to see _Louis Tomlinson_ stuck between _Louise The Lunch Lady_ and _Leeroy P_.

And before Harry can text Louis, Louis texts him.

_Meet me in the bathroom in 5? X_

Harry glances up to find Anne’s hair being made a fuss over and his Aunt Ruth making a big deal over the placement of her dress and how high up it should be.

“Well, you know, appropriate enough for the kids, but some cleavage for Jay at least, yeah?”

Harry nearly gags and leaves the room, calling back that he needs the restroom, and finding the bathroom without texting Louis in response. His read returns are on, anyway.

Louis comes into the restroom three minutes later while Harry’s washing his hands. He watches as Louis fixes his hair in the mirror, shaking it out and wetting it, before it appears slicker and neater than before. There’s another man in the stall over and once he’s gone, Louis smiles at Harry, locking the door after the man, and leaning into Harry against the sink.

“We can’t do this here.” Harry breathes, because they really can’t.

“Why not?”

“We’re in a _church_.” Harry sets his hands on Louis’ waist anyway, because his sides are soft and it’s nice to touch, like the rest of him.

Louis hums in understanding, but kisses Harry on the neck nevertheless. And Harry can’t just refuse him of this, because he wants it just as badly and –

There’s a knock on the door and Harry goes frigid between Louis and the sink. The lips on his neck pause, before:

“Louis, open the fuck up!”

Harry sighs quietly in relief because it’s Niall and only Niall would curse in a church.

“We’re busy!” Louis shouts back, but quiet enough that no one can hear but Harry and his friends. Louis holds onto Harry’s waist, fumbling with the black belt keeping his trousers up, but Harry moves Louis’ hands away because he doesn’t want to do this here, nor attempt to with Niall right outside the door.

“Louis get Harry’s balls out of your mouth and unlock the god damn door.” Zayn’s there as well, and he’s quieter about things, more kept, but that doesn’t stop the gasp from leaving Harry’s mouth.

“You told him?” Harry asks, confused.

“No,” Louis laughs, “but you just did.”

Harry’s eyes are wide as saucers as Louis steps away to unlock the door. He lets Niall and Zayn in, before peaking down the hall and locking the door again, like it’s his own private room.

“You can’t just monopolize the bathroom, mate.” Zayn chuckles and leans against the opposite end of the sink as Harry.

“Ew, so you two’re like—“

“Incest.” Zayn finishes Niall’s thought.

“We’re not actually related.” Louis rolls his eyes, and Harry’s curious as to what he has to say about the whole situation. They’ve not directly spoken of it yet, no matter how much he wants to.

“Yeah, but still. M’not sure your mums would be thrilled.” Zayn adds in, and Harry watches Niall nod in agreeance.

“You and Niall are practically brothers and you’re fucking. What’s the difference?” Louis crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the opposing wall and trying to make a point. Harry catches it, slightly.

“I’m Pakistani and Niall’s Irish. That’s the difference.”

“We don’t even have the same skin tone!” Niall exclaims, hurrying to Zayn’s side to compare their arms. “And he has so many tattoos, look.”

“Oh my god.” Louis groans and bangs his head against the wall. “Niall, tattoos has nothing to do with this.”

“I’m just say—“

“And neither does our relationship. This is about your incestuous—“

“Heey,” Harry frowns, eyebrows slanted inwards and face full of concern toward the situation, “don’t call it _that_.”

It’s an insult, essentially, because none of their connotations toward incest are good and Zayn’s using the word to make a stern point of wisdom. They shouldn’t be having sex.

“We’re not harming anyone.” Louis tries to be the voice of reason. “And until we are, we’ll, whatever.”

 _Until we are_.

Harry tries not to look too deep into things and listens to Niall talk about how hot all the women are and Louis makes him describe them, before telling him that they’re all lesbians and Niall gets a jab in the stomach from Zayn’s elbow.

“Being bi doesn’t mean you can openly ogle both sexes.” Zayn points out and Niall grumbles something incoherent under his breath.

There’s another knock at the door, and this time Harry doesn’t feel so frigid and caught, doesn’t have to face the facts that what he’s doing is bad and terribly inappropriate because now he’s just having a chat with his new brother and some of his friends.

Louis opens the door carelessly, and welcomes who Harry recognizes as Liam in.

“I, um,” Liam clears his throat, avoiding eye contact with Louis, “your mums are looking for you. All of you, I think.”

“Thank you, Liam,” Louis pats him on the back, and Niall and Zayn seem almost surprised at his courtesy, until, “but next time, I’d rather you fuck off.”

Niall snorts into the sleeve of his jacket and Harry’s eyes widen in shock. Zayn doesn’t seem phased and walks Liam out, calling Louis a jackass, which can’t necessarily be entirely false. Slugging behind Zayn and Liam, Niall waves goodbye to Louis, telling him they’ll hang after the reception.

“Why don’t you like him?” Harry asks when Louis tries to hold his hand, even though he knows they can’t.

“Let’s just say,” Louis murmurs by his ear, “he’s not very good with breakups.”

Louis departs from Harry with a smack to his ass and Harry says goodbye blushing until his cheeks feel hot and he realizes his mum must be wondering where he is.

The reception goes well for one without a rehearsal. Harry walks Anne down the aisle and he’s halfway there when he notices Louis staring at him. Their eyes are locked on one another the whole way down and Harry’s lucky for not tripping on the end of Anne’s dress.

The cheers that fill the church when Jay and Anne’s marriage is official, the rings that’re exchanged, and their kiss in front of their friends and family almost all have Harry’s eyes watering. He feels a glow of love and family that he’d never thought he’d have until it was him being walked down the aisle or watching his husband do so. And, really, he’s just glad for his mum and Jay and the Tomlinson-Styles family.

“M’not sure why my mum didn’t take your last name.” Louis has the rim of a bottle of beer hanging from his bottom lip as he talks complete rubbish for someone who’s sober. “And why someone didn’t vouch for anything stronger than non-alcoholic beer. I trusted you, Harry.” Louis points his bottle toward the seventeen year old who’s giggling into his palm and takes a sip.

“Y’know, there’s like, a bit of alcohol in there. But you probably can’t get drunk off of it.”

Louis hums, swishes the beer around in his mouth, and shakes his head.

“Nope,” he laughs, “nothing.”

Harry laughs some more, looks to where Phoebe and Daisy are dancing in the heated tent the after party’s set in, plopped straight in the middle of their backyard, and looks back to Louis, who’s picking pre-spread cheese off his cracker with another.

“So,” Harry’s voice changes an octave, and Louis raises an eyebrow in curiosity, “do tell, who’re the relatives I need to steer clear of and that’ll pass out drunk on my shoulder and puke in my lap.”

“I’m not even gonna question what type of family gatherings you have where there’s that much alcohol.” Louis quips.

“Please don’t.” Smiling, Harry leans over for Louis’ beer, only to have his hand slapped away.

“Hmm, well,” Louis hums, in clear thought, “we’ve got my grandfather, who, lovely man, but says the weirdest things. There’s my mum’s aunt, Sally and her husband, who’ve been trying to adopt me since I was little. I swear they once tried to leave with me at a party, full on kidnapping and everything.”

“Shut up.” Harry grins, shaking his head. “You’re terrible.”

“Alright, well,” Harry watches with sparkles in his eyes as Louis folds his napkin in half, thinking, thinking, thinking, and being an item of Harry’s interest, “we’ve a family friend named Ben. He has a wife, I think they’re here, actually, but will flirt with you in a second.”

“Really?” Harry asks. “Is he hot?”

“S’not like you’re gonna blow him in the bathroom.” Louis jokes, but Harry’s serious, and wants to ask how he knows. For some reason, he finds himself a bit offended by it, but doesn’t comment, doesn’t want to argue over something with Louis so petty when, for all he knows, Ben’s forty and graying with awful teeth and a big beer belly.

“Okay, but,” Harry bites his lip, “rate him.”

“On a scale of…?” Louis crosses his ankles under the table, relaxing, and accidently nudging Harry’s ankles with the tip of his dress shoes.

“Like,” Harry hesitates, trying to think of someone as the end of the scale, but failing, “someone really ugly to Zayn.”

“Zayn?” Louis almost bangs his head against the table laughing, and Harry blushes, but isn’t ashamed of finding Zayn attractive when everyone already does. “Alright, um,” Louis clears his throat, realizing Harry’s serious, “maybe, like—“

Louis’ eyes widen and his attention is suddenly behind Harry as he stops talking.

“He’s over there, see for yourself.” Louis’ voice is lowered this time as he watches Harry watch Ben and his wife, Meredith, talk to a distant relative of Louis’.

“Maybe later.” Harry hums. “’Ve got a step brother to dance with.”

“S’better than watching you flirt with a married man.” Louis shrugs, and if Harry catches a hint of jealousy, it only warms his cheeks further from the thought that Louis cares in one way or another.

After a full plate of food, talking Daisy into eating the entirety of her salad before having cake, and a slice of his own, Harry finds himself feeding the youngest set of twins inside, bottle resting against Ernest’s bottom lip in hopes he’ll encourage the bottle further into his mouth like he does with everyone else. The party guests are mostly outside, but some’ve gone inside to use the restroom or find real alcohol that’s hidden away in the basement downstairs.

Harry’s half a bottle down with Ernest and another to go for Doris when there’s footsteps behind him, and he turns around to acknowledge the person, honestly expecting Louis, before:

“You’re Anne’s son, right?”

And Harry knows who this is, from earlier, so he’s a bit frozen at first, everything Louis told him coming back to mind.

“I’m Harry.” He introduces, setting Ernest’s bottle down on the counter to offer his hand.

“I’m a friend of Jay’s, Ben. Do you perhaps know where the loo is?”

“Down the hall and to the left.” Harry smiles gently, an attempt at being polite when Louis’ already installed all these biases into his head. Once Ben’s gone, he proceeds feeding Doris and directing sober party guests toward where the alcohol’s kept downstairs, even against his mum’s wishes.

There’s a women in the kitchen when Harry’s done feeding the twins, who Harry knows is Ben’s wife.

“Are you Harry?” She asks. “I’m Meredith, my husband used to babysit for Louis when he was younger, a feisty little thing.”

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise – not only by what a mouthful Meredith’s greeting is, but thinking of Louis as a child is something he’s yet to do. And thinking of _why_ Louis doesn’t like Ben is even more intriguing.

“Is that so?” Harry prompts.

“A real bed wetter, if we’re being honest.”

Harry laughs around the smell of love in the air, eyes closed and mouth open.

“Oh my, there was this one time when he came downstairs, about this tall,” Meredith gestures toward the middle of her torso, and Harry glances at the distance between her palm out flat and the ground, “shirtless, and pronounces his love for Ben, my, uh, y’know, husband.”

Harry almost jumps off the floor from laughter.

“I think he remembered after about five years. Hasn’t approached Ben the same since.”

Harry would absolutely love for the conversation to continue, but Ben returns back from the bathroom and Meredith waves him goodbye before he has the chance.

Harry gets the twins asleep and grabs a baby monitor before he’s spent too much time inside and not enough time “mingling,” as Anne and Jay call it.

On his way out the door, Harry stops, backtracks, and finds himself pouring Louis a glass of wine downstairs.

Harry finds Louis with his feet kicked onto Niall’s lap, Zayn on his other side, and Liam on the opposite end of the table. He sets the glass in front of Louis, before pulling out a chair to sit beside Liam, smiling politely.

“See, Niall, why don’t you ever do that for me?” Zayn frowns, throwing an M&M at his head. It falls in his quiff, red mixed with blonde hair and brown roots, before hitting the grass like Christmas.

“’Cause you’re always already high. Y’don’t need pints to top it all off.”

“Thank you, love.” Louis smiles at Harry, picking up the glass of red wine in front of him and tipping the rim toward his lips. It’s dangerously dark and Louis smacks his lips at Harry once he’s had a sip. The center of his tongue is suddenly stained red and Harry wants a taste, even though he’s not that keen on drinking. Can still feel the banging on his head from drinking whatever was in his cup last night.

“Wait,” Liam clears his throat, hesitantly, “are you two…?” He gestures in between Harry and Louis with a curious glance, and Louis’ quick to interrupt him.

“Don’t be gross, Liam, we’re brothers.”

“Oh.” Liam blushes and glances down at his half eaten plate of cake. “Sorry, I—“

“It’s fine.” Harry smiles, feeling terribly sorry for Liam because Louis’ an absolute piece of shit to him, completely the opposite of how he is to Harry and the twins and Lottie and their mums. Even Zayn and Niall. “I don’t mind.”

Harry knows how it sounds before it leaves his mouth, but the soft smile on his face has no one taking notice. It doesn’t matter much, anyway, for Zayn and Niall already _know_ about Louis and Harry. For some reason, Liam’s been deemed the untrustworthy one and feels bad enough to question it a second time, even if it’s just a passing thought in his head.

Liam excuses himself moments later, and Harry feels terrible, secondhand guilt. He’s pretty sure Louis’ not feeling any guilt at all, so it’s all coming hurdling at him like a tidal wave.

“You could cut him some slack.” Zayn suggests. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to dump you…how he did.”

“I’m not angry that he dumped me, but he could’ve at least said that he wanted to see other people _before_ he nagged about how done he was with girls and then decided to sleep with Danielle.”

Harry bites his bottom lip and watches Louis take a large sip from his glass of wine out of stress. This time it paints his lips pink and his gums a dark red that makes his teeth brighter and his mouth fruitier.

It wasn’t on accident that Harry chose the raspberry wine.

No one responds to Louis because they know he’s right, even Harry who watched Liam slump away with hunched shoulders and a sad expression, forced to come to Jay’s wedding out of respect of his mum and Jay’s friendship.

Only the closer of family friends and relatives stay late. Harry spends his time dancing with Phoebe and Daisy, holding small hands in his and twirling two girls at once, greeting family member who’re Louis’ as well as now his. He’s introduced to Lottie’s girlfriend, Kristen, and treats it far more maturely than Louis, who winks and tells Kristen to, “Keep an eye on this one.”

Harry eats too much cake for his stomach to withhold and drinks a lot more soda than Louis does wine, thankfully. He answers to the babies’ cry from upstairs only twice, both times for a diaper change that has him spraying vanilla perfume on afterwards to get rid of the smell. Louis tells him he smells sweet, kind of like butter on corn, and Harry giggles into his neck before remembering where they are and who’s nearby.

And then there’s a speech. With microphones and Jay clinking a fork against a glass of water (she can’t drink alcohol yet because it’ll tamper with her breast milk) into the mic.

“I’d like to gather everyone’s attention for a moment,” she’s smiling and Harry’s heart is on fire with a glow of warmth he’s never felt quite so strong before. It’s his mother’s smile, her finally being happy that has his dimples indenting his cheeks like craters on the moon. “It’s been too many days to count that I’ve loved my beautiful wife.” She’s grinning and so is Harry. “And today has been a dream come true, having my friends and family here to celebrate the love that’s helped inspire two kids, and hopefully many more.”

There’s a pause and Harry laughs because he knows Jay’s kidding. Hears her declaration of _I’m never having a kid again!_ every time she has to change diapers at three in the morning.

“I’m kidding!” Jay exclaims. “But,” her tone falls to something sweet like honey on a spoon, rising in the air, “I’m not kidding when I thank you all for coming. We love all of you, and I’m going to pass this along to my beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Anne’s speech is a bit longer, with tears that have Harry almost crying, leaning his face against Louis’ shoulder because it’s the closest one to him and he could use the comfort when his heart’s glowing so bright like a supernova on fire in his chest and it’s burning his eyes, bright through the crevices of his bones.

Louis ushers Harry toward the front yard once speeches and laughs and cheers of congratulations are made to the happy couple. He holds Harry’s wrist, guiding him along the grass, until they’re out of sight and his fingers fall down to interlock with Harry’s.

Louis pushes Harry between two trees and against the house, where they’re hidden and their mouths can be as close as possible without being seen.

“Hi.” Harry smiles, tears stuck in his eyes as he sniffles through his nose.

“You okay, love?” Louis asks, leaning in toward the grinning boy in front of him. Their lips, brushing.

“Just happy.” Harry laughs lightly, “I want a love like theirs someday, y’know?”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Louis kisses the side of Harry’s mouth, “with a smile like yours, you’ll be getting all the guys ‘til you need denchers. After that you’ll be a bit dependent on your bum, but by then you’ll have someone you love like my mum loves yours.”

Harry kisses Louis, head moving forward until he’s hooked Louis’ lips onto his and can rest his head back against the house. Louis’ mouth tastes like wine and weddings and Harry couldn’t ask for much else.

**Author's Note:**

> [compliment me on tumblr and make my christmas maybe or not thank you so much for reading you are the real golden one here](hharrytomlinson.tumblr.com)


End file.
